


Lifeline: Chicago

by grey853



Series: Bygones [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 86,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/grey853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While struggling to recover from his trauma and adjusting to his new relationship with Fraser, Ray stumbles onto a case which will put his life in danger once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Book Two of the Bygones Saga.

* * *

**BYGONES 2  
LIFELINE: Chicago**  
by Grey  
[Grey853@aol.com](mailto:Grey853@aol.com?subject=Lifeline%20Chicago)

* * *

****

Part One

****

"I'm sorry for your loss. Take your time." Ray pushed the standard-issue box of Kleenex across the interview table as he said all too familiar words.  
  
A woman in her late sixties took a tissue, wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose, throwing the used one away before grabbing another. Wisps of thinning grey hair stood out from her head, her face red and wrinkled from weeping. Her voice choked as she spoke quietly, the words shaky with disbelief. "Forty-nine years we were married, forty-nine years. Who would do such a terrible thing?"  
  
"That's what I need to find out, Ms. Warner. Did your husband have any enemies, anyone who might be mad enough to kill him?"  
  
Bloodshot brown eyes met Ray's and she shook her head. "No, no, I dont think so. I'm not saying my Henry's a saint. He's not. But he never did anything to deserve this." The tears stained her cheeks and she wiped them away again with the tissue. "Can you find whoever killed my Henry?"

"I'll do my best." Ray shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Dealing with so many victims, so many cases, never made the suffering any easier to handle. Such misery tightened his chest, made his head swim with the images of the dead man, his bald head crushed, his withered body bloodied by a vicious attack. Whoever killed an old man like that, did something that whacked, sure didn't do it just for the money. "Look, I need a list of all the people who worked for your husband and anybody he did business with on a regular basis. They might have some ideas about people who had grudges, some kind of ax to grind with your husband."  
  
Lips pursed as Mrs. Warner nodded in understanding. "My Henry runs the shop pretty much on his own. I keep asking him to get more help, but he won't ever listen." She blinked away more tears before she added, "Mrs. Owens has worked as his bookkeeper for years. If anyone was bothering Henry, she'd know. There's also young Martin Jones. He's been working part time on Saturdays and after school since January. I know his mother. He's such a fine boy."  
  
"What about business contacts?"  
  
"He has regular customers, people who come in to pawn things more than others. Mrs. Owens would have their names and addresses."  
  
"What about family? Are there any family members who had a quarrel with him?"  
  
"Not really. He's outlived his brothers, all six of them." Mrs. Warner hesitated before she added, "There's our grandson, Hank, but that's just family squabbles, nothing serious." She stopped, swallowed hard, and then closed her eyes, the realization of her loss nearly too much to endure. "He's really gone."  
  
Ray cleared his throat, his voice tight as he watched her shake with grief. "I'm sorry."

"I mean, at our age, you expect to die one day soon, but not like this, not like this. Oh, Lord."

Overwhelmed, she sat there, eyes squeezed shut, her head bowed. Her anguish fisted Ray's heart. He stood up and came around the table, his hand resting on her shoulder. "I'll get one of the patrol cars to take you home. Just stay here and I'll set something up."

Mrs. Warner grabbed his hand as he moved to leave. She squeezed it and pleaded, "Just find the person who did this."  
  
"Yes, ma'am. I plan to."  
  
She released him and Ray walked out the door, his whole body bone-tired already. The unrelenting heat didn't help. Sweat dripped down his back and pooled in his armpits, his Bulls T-shirt sticking to his skin. The air conditioning in the station barely limped along at the best of times and Chicago's unexpected June heat wave kicked its ass every morning and won hands down by late afternoon. 

Running his hand through his damp hair, Ray wondered how he'd look with a buzz cut. Then he thought about Fraser after they both came, Fraser playing lovingly with Ray's blond spikes, and Ray threw that idea out in a hurry. Heat or no heat, no way would he whack off his hair and miss out on something he couldn't get enough of, cuddling with Fraser. 

Absently, Ray's right hand settled on the scar across his throat just below his Adam's apple, his index finger rubbing back and forth along the slightly raised skin. He found himself doing that more and more often, a bad habit he needed to break, a worse memory he'd rather forget.  
  
Frannie stopped in front of him with her stack of folders and eyed him up and down. "Earth to Ray. Anybody in there?"

It took a few extra seconds to focus, to drag himself back from the ugly past to the present. Ray's head came up and he snapped more harshly than he intended. "What?"

Concern replaced her teasing tone. "You okay?" 

Ray shook off the grip of the fleeting, violent images and got his head back in the game. He kept his voice even and his eyes on Frannie, who looked way too worried for comfort. He didn't need her blabbing to Fraser or Welsh about him being too lame and distracted to do his damn job. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look a million miles away."  
  
"Yeah, like you don't drift off to La La land from time to time." At her hurt expression, he shrugged and apologized for being such an asshole. "Sorry. It's the heat. It's hot enough to melt concrete around here."  
  
Unconvinced, Frannie still played along. "Sure. Guess it melted all the rocks in your head. That explains the blank expression."  
  
"Good one." Ray held up a finger as if giving a winning point and then thumbed toward the room behind him. "Now, if we're through trying out for the comedy club, could you get one of the patrol guys downstairs to give Mrs. Warner a ride home?"

"That the lady whose husband got killed in the pawn shop?"

"Yeah."  
  
"Sure. No problem."  
  
"Thanks, Frannie."

"You're thanking me?"  
  
Ray smiled and parroted his partner with a tip of his imaginary Stetson. "It only takes a few extra seconds to be courteous."  
  
Frannie snorted at Ray's on the money and practiced imitation as she fanned herself with one of the folders. "You going to start wearing the uniform, too?"  
  
"In this heat? I might be nuts, but I ain't crazy."

"How does he stand it?"  
  
"Don't ask me. I keep telling him he's going to have heat stroke if he's not careful, but you know Fraser, stubborn like a mule, or moose, or caribou, whatever. You tell him to do something and he's going to do just the opposite just to prove his point."

"Not like you, huh?"

Ray teased, but kept his face neutral as he met Frannie's playful brown eyes. "You saying I'm stubborn?"

"If the boot fits."  
  
"That's shoe, Frannie, if the shoe fits."  
  
"Boot, shoe, spiked heel. Who cares? The point is that you're both too pig-headed for your own good."  
  
Ray cocked his head, not sure how to take that, even from Frannie. No way could she mean he was as stubborn as Fraser, no fucking way. "What's that mean?"  
  
"You figure it out, Mr. Hard Head. I'm going to get one of the guys to take your lady home." She turned and then stopped. "Oh, and the lieutenant wants to see you in his office. He said something about an update on some case."  
  
Ray groaned, Frannie's wisecrack quickly forgotten, replaced by a near panic fueled by a shit load of frustration and fatigue. "Update? I just got the case a couple of hours ago. We don't even have all the statements yet."  
  
"Tell him, not me."  
  
"Sure, okay. Sorry."  
  
As Frannie walked away, Ray headed back to his desk to grab some notes, trying to list out in his head all the things he knew so far about Warner. Before he could even sit down, his boss stood in the doorway looking his way with that impatient stare he had down pat. "Detective, a minute of your time if you please."

Ray cursed under his breath, but went into Welsh's office. His boss closed the door and then walked behind his desk to sit down. A small round fan behind Welsh's head stirred the air, but didn't do much to make it cooler. "So what do you have on the Warner case so far?"  
  
"Not much, Lieutenant. I just got it."  
  
Welsh sat back and nodded, obviously trying to reign in his own impatience. "I know. It's just that I knew this guy back when I was a beat cop. The guy was a cantankerous old coot, but he was never dirty, never did any fencing, not like a lot of brokers in the area. Sometimes he even helped out on cases. "

"You mean like a snitch?"

"Sometimes, yeah."  
  
"You think somebody might have found out about him ratting people out and took it personal?"

"Maybe. Might be something to check out. See if he's working with any of the other precincts on anything involving a scumbag who might do something as bad as this." Welsh paused to emphasize his words. "I want to know who's responsible."

"I'm on it, sir. I'm good, but Im not a miracle worker. I need time."

"Any leads at all?"  
  
"Not really, not yet. I mean, nothing was taken but some cash, no jewelry, no electronics, nothing. The guy was bashed over the head with a glass paperweight, stomped, and then stabbed with some kind of knife about six or seven times. Don't know what kind of knife yet. No murder weapon was recovered at the scene. Just shows whoever did it was pissed as hell, or whacked out on drugs, or something. Still, if it was drugs, he'd probably have taken some of the jewelry to fence, too. So, my bet, it's personal."

"The widow give you any help?"  
  
"Gave me some names to start with. I mean, give me some time on this, Lieu, and I'll find something."

"I'm sure you will." Welsh picked up three folders off his desk. "You did a good job on these other cases, especially the Tyler case. I mean, that guy was slippery as an eel and you've got him sewn up tight. The DA should be pleased as punch about that one."  
  
Ray stood a little straighter, smiling at the unexpected compliment. Welsh wasn't noted for his generosity when it came to giving a pat on the back or doing the job well done kind of thing. His admiration for his gruff boss made the words even more special. "Thanks, sir."

"And while I appreciate your dedication to duty, you pulling double shifts again worries me." Welsh looked up, studying him with an intense scrutiny that always made Ray twitchy as hell. "It worries me because it reminds me of what happened before."  
  
Caught off guard, Ray crossed his arms and shook his head. "It's not like that. I'm fine. It's not like before. Honest."  
  
"Then why the double shifts?"  
  
Shrugging, Ray kept his arms wrapped tightly around himself, refusing to meet Welsh's gaze. "A couple of reasons."  
  
"Which are?"  
  
"I had a lot of medical bills. Working overtime helps out."  
  
Welsh frowned. "I thought insurance covered that?"

"Most of it, but there's other stuff, personal stuff. Shrinks and physical therapy ain't cheap even with insurance paying eighty percent. Plus, I had to replace a lot of clothes and things from when the apartment was trashed."  
  
"I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't realize "

Ray lifted a hand, stalling whatever the lieutenant might say, whatever sympathy he might give. He didn't need pity, not from the lieutenant, not from anybody. "Look, it's no big deal. Fraser wanted to help out, too, but I need to take care of it on my own. He gets that."  
  
Welsh accepted the statement with a quick nod and then asked, "You said there were a couple of reasons. What's the other?"

"Fraser's been working late every night. There's some bigwig trade conference coming up and he's in charge." 

"What's that got to do with you working overtime?"  
  
No way could Ray tell the truth, no way would he admit he hated being alone in the apartment. He settled for a half-truth. "I have a lot of cases. Just wanted to catch up and make some extra bucks at the same time."

"And you're sure that's all? There's no other reason you're working like you've got no home to go to?"  
  
Ray didn't miss the concern, his boss wondering about how close he was to cracking up, to losing it like he did before. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. You don't have to worry about me. I'm good."  
  
"Glad to hear it, but you know we've got a cap on overtime pay now, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I know, but I can go for comp time. That's cool. I mean, I lost a lot of days when I was off before." Ray hesitated and then added, "Fraser and I, we're thinking about going back up to Canada sometime this summer. I wanted to build up a few more days for that, just in case."  
  
Welsh sat back and studied him, his expression less serious. "Canada again, huh? Same place as before?"  
  
"I don't know, maybe. I'd like to. There are some good people up there. But we've also talked about going to his dad's cabin and rebuilding it. Right now it's framed out, but it needs a lot of work, which is one reason we couldn't go in the winter."  
  
"Doesnt sound like much of a vacation if you're going to be building a cabin."  
  
"Tell that to the Mountie. You know Canadians, sir, not happy unless they're busting their asses doing something constructive. Me, I'd be happy just to sit back, drink a few brews, and enjoy the scenery." Ray didn't add that a nude Fraser was his favorite scenic view.

"Strange people, Canadians."  
  
"Tell me about it. You should see Turnbull and Fraser when they get together to watch curling."

"Curling? Isn't that like shuffleboard on ice?"  
  
"Yeah. Crazy Canucks think it's better than baseball. Can you believe that?"  
  
"Knowing Constable Turnbull, yeah."  
  
"But Fraser? I dont get it, but I'm outnumbered when Renny comes over, so I just go work out while they get it out of their systems."

"You still working with that kid at the gym?"

Ray shrugged and shook his head in regret. "Levon lost his nerve after what happened in the ring. It's a shame, but I can't say I blame him. I dont even go to the same gym anymore. Too many bad memories. Plus, I'm not too welcome after I arrested Devlin."

Welsh took offense and shook his head. "It's not your fault he was pumping up his fighters with steroids."  
  
"Doesnt matter. He was a popular guy and I'm the cop that took him in and shut him down. I got tired of sparring partners too happy to take my head off. This new place is a little closer to our apartment anyway, so it works out."

"Too bad. The old gym had atmosphere, like you could work up a sweat without offending anybody's sensibilities. Not a lot of those places left."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Ray shuffled his feet a little, anxious to get back to work. "Look, I should probably follow up on these names I got from Mrs. Warner."  
  
"Sure, sure." Welsh frowned, not quite done yet. "So, is Constable Fraser going to be around to help with any of your cases? I dont think I've seen him but a couple of times in the last few weeks."  
  
Ray didn't meet his Lieutenant's eyes, didn't want to risk flashing his own concerns, his own questions about Fraser's recent absence from the station. Instead, he stepped to the door, his hand on the knob. "Like I said, he's been really busy with this trade conference thing. It's a big deal. Lots of people from all over the world are coming so they can figure out if they want to play footsies with the Canadians. He's up to his eyeballs in paperwork. Speaking of which, I really need to get on this, sir."  
  
Welsh waved his hand. "Right. Just keep me informed."  
  
"Will do, sir."  
  
Ray left the office, went to his desk and sat down. Instead of picking up the Warner folder, he rubbed his face with both hands, wanting like hell to call up Fraser and apologize for being such an ass that morning. He hated fighting with Fraser, but, god, the man got on his last nerve sometimes, picking up his clothes, being so damned picky about everything, pushing food at him every chance he got even though Ray told him over and over he wasn't hungry. Ray knew Fraser loved him and he loved Fraser, but that sure didn't make it any easier for the two men to live together. 

Ray took a deep breath and decided to get back to work. He'd talk to Fraser later, try to make it up to him for being such a jerk. It wasn't like he'd never been an asshole before or that Fraser hadn't lost his temper a time or two when he'd had more than he could handle. They'd work it out like always, with a sorry and a kiss, and if he was lucky, a long make out session that made Ray forget all about being pissed at an eagle-eyed Mountie who watched his every move.

* * *

"Constable Turnbull, do you have the updated list on the hotel accommodations for the German party yet?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Turnbull stood up, his usual smile missing. He handed the folder to Fraser. "Sir?"  
  
"Yes, Turnbull?"  
  
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, would it be possible for me to leave thirty minutes early today? I'll be more than happy to make up the time by either coming in early or staying late tomorrow."

Fraser frowned as he studied his colleague. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and his lips thinned into a narrow line. "May I ask why?"  
  
Blue eyes avoided his own. "It's personal, sir."  
  
"Personal? As in Peter Pulaski personal?"  
  
Turnbull's skin pinked slightly. "Yes, sir."  
  
Fraser had enough restraint not to push further. Privacy was something he both treasured and required in his own life. The least he could do was to extend the same courtesy to others. He knew all too well how matters of the heart could affect one's disposition and temper. It seemed poor Turnbull was not immune, either. "Very well. I see no problem with you leaving thirty minutes early. You may make up the time at your own discretion."  
  
Turnbull looked up, obviously grateful. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."  
  
As Fraser turned to go back to his office, Turnbull asked quietly, "Sir?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you have a few moments to spare? It's important."  
  
Oh, dear. 

Fraser reluctantly nodded as he came back to stand near the front desk. "Very well, Constable." Fraser tugged at his ear and made an impulsive decision. "Perhaps a short break wouldn't be too remiss. Tea?"

Turnbull smiled for the first time that morning. "You don't think the Inspector would object?"  
  
"The Inspector is in Toronto, Turnbull. I hardly think her disapproval can extend from there." Fraser waved an arm to indicate the empty Consulate. "There's no one else here at the moment. Should anyone arrive, we'll be able to greet them in our customary fashion in a matter of seconds. Now, would you like tea or not?"

"Thank you, sir. That would be lovely."  
  
They walked together into the kitchen. While Fraser heated the water and got the tea down from the cupboard, Turnbull gathered the teapot and cups. He spoke quietly as he put the sugar and cream on the table. "If it's not too forward to ask, sir, are you happy living with Ray?"  
  
Fraser stopped moving, surprised by the question. Even though they had spent time away from the Consulate on friendly terms, they had rarely shared details of their intimate relationships. After a few moments Fraser turned and studied his colleague. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Well, it's just that Peter has asked me to move in with him and I must confess to experiencing a bit of trepidation at the prospect."  
  
"Mr. Pulaski has asked you to cohabitate?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Am I to assume that this is not just for economic reasons?"  
  
Turnbull kept his back to Fraser as he arranged the materials for tea on the silver serving tray. "No, sir. He wants to move our relationship to what he refers to as the next level, a more committed level."  
  
Fraser leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed as he waited for the water to boil. He thought about the argument that morning with Ray, the quick blow up over nothing really, the harsh words about how Fraser pushed too hard, not giving Ray enough credit for knowing whether he was hungry or not. Then again, most of the disagreements with Ray lately seemed to stem from nothing. Due to Ray's volatile nature and recent trauma, Fraser expected some irritability from his partner as they both adjusted to being together fulltime in such small quarters. He just never counted on discord being a nearly daily, sometimes hourly, event. Still, the wonderful times with his lover outweighed the heartache Fraser suffered every time they fought.

"Sir?"  
  
Fraser looked up, seeing the worry in Turnbull's face. "Sorry, Constable. Woolgathering." Fraser cleared his throat and turned his focus back to Turnbull. "How do you feel about Mr. Pulaski?"  
  
Turnbull didn't hesitate. "I love him."  
  
"But you feel hesitant about sharing living quarters with him. Do you know why?"  
  
"Well, sir, I do love Peter. This is actually the longest relationship I've ever had and by far the most fulfilling."  
  
"But you have reservations?"  
  
"Well, he's difficult sometimes."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
Turnbull stepped just slightly closer as he shared his concerns. "I have to confess that many times I don't understand half of what he says or does. Don't get me wrong, sir, he's a wonderful man. He's passionate, honest, and very intelligent. It's just that he's so, so, so"  
  
"So what?"  
  
"American."

Fraser laughed out loud. He completely understood exactly what Turnbull meant. "Very much like Ray then?"  
  
"Very much so, yes." Turnbull shook his head, his voice laced with frustration. "I try to be understanding of his moods, and he says they're not about me. He repeatedly says I shouldn't take them personally, but he gets so impatient with me sometimes, that it's hard not to think he's not upset with me or with something I've done. He says such harsh things. How do you deal with it, sir?" 

"How do I deal with Ray?"  
  
"Yes, sir."

The kettle whistle blew and Fraser turned away as he considered the question. He poured the boiling water into the teapot, trying very hard to figure out what to say. How did he explain his relationship with Ray to Turnbull when he couldnt really completely explain it to himself? After he put the empty kettle in the sink, he faced Turnbull and shook his head. "Ray and I, our relationship, that is to say, I can't really say."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"It's difficult to put into words."

Disappointed, Turnbull nodded as if to let Fraser off the hook. 

Instead of taking that chance to avoid the truth, Fraser completed his thoughts. "We are so very different, Ray and I, and yet we complement one another, my reason to his instinct, my coolness to his heat. When he's angry, I remain calm. When I become flustered, he finds a way to say or do something to make me smile. Despite the hardships, the connection is stronger than anything I've ever felt." Fraser paused, licked his lower lip, and then carefully added, "If you love Mr. Pulaski, you have to decide for yourself if you're ready to take that next step. If you're not sure about committing yourself at that level, I would recommend you wait. You'll know when you're ready."

"You knew you were ready to be with Ray like that, committed?"

"Yes."

"Buthow?"  
  
"The fear of being without him was far worse than my concerns about living with him. We've both had to make a lot of adjustments."  
  
"But in the end, you're glad you decided to live together?"  
  
Fraser strained the tea as he poured it into their cups. "It's not always easy, but, yes, overall, I'm glad." He motioned toward the tray. "Would you like to serve this in the sitting room or shall I?"  
  
Turnbull picked up the tray. "Allow me, sir." He hesitated before he added, "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your honesty and candor about such a personal matter."  
  
"You're welcome."

As the younger man left, Fraser stood by the phone, debating with himself about whether to call Ray and apologize for the morning's quarrel. His hand rested on the receiver as Turnbull's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, are you coming?"

Fraser sighed and decided to wait until later when he could see and talk to Ray in person. No use trying to mend fences when Ray might be too busy to listen, too distracted to fully appreciate how much Fraser really wanted life to always be good between them. Instead, he headed down the hall to have tea, ignoring the worry that niggled at the back of his mind. 

* * *

Ray wiped the sweat from his brow and identified himself to Mrs. Owens by holding his badge up to the peephole of her door. As he waited impatiently on the porch, he listened for the locks clicking on the other side. As the door swung open, he got a good whiff of old people smell, that kind of sickly, stale scent that made him queasy. He kept his face neutral despite his own discomfort. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Owens, but I've got some questions about your boss, Mr. Warner."

"I knew you were coming. Mildred called me. Come on inside, young man."

The cooler air carried the stench of too much cat and not enough litter. Magazines and papers were stacked up in the corner on a chair and ceramic knickknacks covered nearly every surface. A vacuum cleaner and bucket of dirty water sat in the middle of the floor.

"Excuse the mess. I was cleaning. This whole business is so horrible, I have to keep busy."  
  
Ray grinned his best cop grin, hoping he could make the woman relax while he ignored the overgrown tabby sniffing at his boot. "That's like my mom. She cleans when she gets upset."  
  
Mrs. Owens, in her late 70s, short and chunky, smiled back with relief. "You understand then."  
  
"Yes, ma'am, that I do. I'm all about staying busy."  
  
The woman cleared off a spot on the sofa and motioned for Ray to sit. He pushed away the curious cat and settled. "Would you like some coffee or tea? The water's already boiling so it wouldn't be any trouble."  
  
Ray pulled out his notebook, shoving the persistent feline away again. He wanted ice water, not hot drinks, but he kept that to himself. The cat meowed loudly, displeased that Ray didn't want to play. Tail in the air, still pissed off, it headed off to the back room. Ray cracked his neck and got down to business as he brushed off the load of cat hair from his jeans. Dief would have a real hissy fit next time he got a good whiff. "No, thanks. I'm good. I just need some information."  
  
Pulling a hanky from her apron, Mrs. Owens dabbed at her eyes and shook her head as she sat down on a chair opposite the couch. "This is so terrible. Poor Mildred. What she must be going through."  
  
"So what was Mr. Warner like to work for?"  
  
Mrs. Owen's lips thinned and she pulled herself up a little straighter, her hands held tightly together in her lap. "I was raised to not speak ill of the dead, young man."

Ray tilted his head and studied the little old biddy, thinking something was definitely hinky about this whole deal. He urged her to say what she really thought instead of being too polite. "So you're saying he wasn't a good boss?"  
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
"Look, was he hard to get along with or what? Did he have any particular enemies, somebody who might want to do something like this?" Ray saw her hesitation, her uneasiness at the questions, and wished like hell that Fraser was around to help out. Fraser would have no trouble at all getting an old lady like Mrs. Owens to spill her guts. Fraser was great with people, especially elderly people, better than him, so he took a page from Fraser's handbook on handling folks who weren't getting any younger anytime soon. Leaning in, he kept his voice soft and earnest. "I need your help here, Mrs. Owens. Your friend Mildred needs your help. We need to find the person who murdered her husband. If you know anything, I'd really appreciate hearing about it. You could really make a difference."

Mrs. Owens worried the hanky and shook her head, refusing to meet Ray's eyes. "Mildred deserved better than Henry Warner. He was mean and disrespectful to her just like he was to everybody else. Lord knows, I figured one day his mouth would get him killed."  
  
Whoa. Ray sat back, surprised at the emotional punch behind the statement. "Why? What'd he do or say to make you think that?"  
  
Owens gave another headshake and sniffled. "There were times when I could've bashed his head in myself. Stupid old fool." She shuddered and then finally looked up. "I'm sorry. I'm upset. I don't really mean that. I'm not a violent person."  
  
"I understand." Ray pushed his advantage. "But he made you mad, huh?"  
  
"Sometimes. He just said thoughtless things, things that might have been acceptable years ago, but not anymore."  
  
Frowning, Ray didn't like what he was hearing, the full picture of the victim turning downright ugly. "What? Are you saying he called people names or something?"  
  
Shrugging, she crossed her arms, her voice even tighter. "He had a foul mouth about people he didn't like, and I'm not talking about individuals. He still used the N word when young Martin wasn't around or when he thought people couldn't hear him."  
  
"The N word? Are you saying he was a bigot?"

"Yes, and in that neighborhood, that's not a good thing to be. He just didn't care. He also wasn't nice to other people, you know, like homosexuals or anyone he thought might be gay. He used to say terrible things about one customer we had, a Mr. Doggett. Henry could be cruel when he wanted to be, unless he wanted something. Then he was smooth as a snake."  
  
Rays pursed his lips and held back any comment. It wasn't like he didn't run across this kind of thing all the time. Still, it was hard to feel sorry for an asshole of a victim. "Anybody else he gave a hard time?"

"Jews. He hated Jews, too, and for some reason, he had this terrible habit of telling these stupid Polish jokes. Why anybody would think that kind of thing was funny is beyond me."

Ray wrote down some notes, kind of glad he hadn't had to deal with the Warner guy while he was alive. He might have bopped the son of a bitch himself. Before he finished jotting down his last line, Mrs. Owens added even more. "He was one of those people who could be so unpleasant. Frankly, I don't know why Mildred stayed with him. I suppose it was that whole Catholic thing."  
  
"Catholic thing?"  
  
"Yes, you know, staying married no matter what, divorce being a sin and all. What was a sin was how he treated her, like she was some kind of servant. Personally, I would've left him years ago."

"If he was so terrible, why'd you work for him?"  
  
"I had to make a living, so I did his books, but I brought the books home just so I wouldn't have to spend much time with him. He was only one of several people I do books for."

"So you have those books here?"  
  
"Yes, I do. Would you like me to get them?"  
  
"Thanks, but in a minute. Plus, I'd like to take them with me, especially if you've got anything that shows names and addresses of repeat business. Mrs. Warner okayed it."  
  
"Certainly. I've got all that."

"Good, good. Okay, just a few more questions. Was there anyone in particular that he had arguments with, someone who might hold a grudge? Think hard. It's important."

Owens closed her eyes for just a moment, considering the question carefully. When she opened her eyes, she nodded. "There are several who come to mind. There's Hank, his grandson, but that was just family feuding, nothing more serious than Henry being mule-headed as usual." She paused and leaned in just a little. "But there was an incident just a few days ago when I went in to talk to Henry about some discrepancies in the May books. Henry was arguing with some man. It was all very heated, but they stopped when they saw me."  
  
Excited at the possible lead, Ray pushed. "Did you hear what they were saying before they clammed up?"  
  
"Henry said he'd done enough, that he wouldn't do anymore."  
  
"Done enough what?"  
  
"I don't know. I can tell you the man he was arguing with wasn't very happy."  
  
"This guy, you ever seen him before? Could you recognize him again? Did he say or do anything threatening?"  
  
"I had seen him before, but I don't think he was a customer."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because he was in the office at the back. Henry never let any of the customers back there."  
  
"So you're thinking this was more personal?"  
  
"Yes, maybe, I don't know. I just know Henry was very angry. He snapped at me later after the man left and told me to forget about anything I saw or heard. He was downright nasty about it."  
  
"So, what'd this guy look like?"  
  
"Tall, maybe a few inches taller than you. Very muscular, almost like one of those body-builder types. Young, mid-thirties. He had short, dark, wavy hair and vivid blue eyes. He had this really deep voice, kind of raspy, very distinctive. He's probably a smoker. He was wearing white running shoes, faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and had a short-sleeved blue shirt over that. He also had a small scar on his right cheek." She used her finger on her own face to trace the line of about two inches from her right eye straight downward.  
  
Wow. Ray shook his head, surprised by the detail of the description. Most people couldn't tell you what a person looked like when he was staring them in the face. "Sounds like you got a pretty good look."  
  
Mrs. Owens blushed slightly and sighed. "I might be old, Detective, but I know a good-looking man when I see one. I'm not dead yet."  
  
Ray didn't even want to think about Mrs. Owens getting turned on at her age. Old people and sex, no way, no how did he want to wrap his mind around that. He took a deep breath and tried not to say anything stupid that would tick her off. "You're saying this guy was good-looking?

"Oh, yes, but in a scruffy sort of way. He needed a shave. Whoever he was, Henry didn't like him."  
  
"And you say you'd seen him before?"  
  
"Twice before, yes." She paused and thought for a moment. "You know, it's strange. Every time I did see him, Henry acted very nervous, like he was hiding something." 

"And you've got no idea who this guy was or why he was there?"  
  
Mrs. Owens bit her lower lip and leaned in even more. "I have my suspicions."  
  
"Which are?"  
  
"Over the years, I believe Henry might have been working covertly with you people."

"You people?"

"Yes, as in the police."  
  
Ray's eyes widened. He hadn't expected her to know that. "You think the man he was arguing with was a police officer?"  
  
"I dont know for sure, but I do know he wasn't a regular customer. He didn't come in to pawn or buy anything from the shop. Henry kept meticulous records of all his transactions. He never had anything down for this man. I already checked."

Ray jotted it all down in his notebook. "That's good, thanks. You said there were several people who might fit the bill. Who else besides this guy?"  
  
"Well, there's Reggie Goins. He and Henry used to argue from time to time, but I really don't think Reggie would do something like this. He drinks, but he's not violent."  
  
"Anybody else?"  
  
"Why don't I just mark them in the book for you?"  
  
"That many?"  
  
"Like I said, there are several people who really didn't like Henry."  
  
Ray shook his head in amazement. It was a wonder this guy lasted as long as he did in such a tough neighborhood. "Sure. I'd appreciate it. Just one more thing and I'll let you get the books. Tell me about this Martin Jones kid, the boy who worked part time. How did he get along with Warner?"  
  
Mrs. Owens shook her head and stood up. "You'll have to ask Martin yourself, Detective. He's a good boy, not some hooligan off the street. He had nothing to do with this." She hesitated and then added, "But he's got a keen eye. If something happened while he was anywhere near, he'd have seen it."  
  
"Thanks. Guess I'll talk to him later then."  
  
"He's in school right now. He's an honor student." Her face brightened. "His mother is so proud, as well she should be. In this day and age, it's hard to keep the boys in school and out of gangs."

"Sounds like a great kid."  
  
Mrs. Owens nodded as she stepped to the doorway and walked into a small bedroom converted into an office. She came back out a few minutes later with three big books. She handed them to Ray before she continued as if she never stopped talking. "Yes, not like his brother Marvin. Now that boy gave his mother nothing but grief."

"How's that?"  
  
"Gangs, stealing, running wild. He's in prison right now serving time for manslaughter. Killed his girlfriend, and her pregnant. Such a shame. Broke his mother's heart. She's got a second chance with Martin."

Something dark tickled the back of Ray's cop mind. "So, did this Marvin know Mr. Warner?"  
  
"Hated him. Broke out the front window twice."  
  
"You think Mr. Warner might have turned him into the police?"  
  
Mrs. Owens snorted. "I'm sure he did. Poor Grace even offered to pay for the damage, but he wouldnt hear of it. Stubborn old bastard never thought about anybody but himself." She sniffed a few times and then shook her head. "Forgive me. I dont normally go on like this." She patted the top of the books Ray held and ushered him to the door. "Just bring these back when you're done."  
  
"Thanks. You've been a big help." As soon as she closed the door behind him, Ray took a deep breath of humid Chicago air and hoped like hell that Martin Jones hadn't done anything really stupid.

* * *

Ray walked up the Consulate steps, his right leg aching to beat the band. He'd been lazy about doing his physical therapy for the last two weeks and now his muscles cramped up and complained like crazy, the spiky jabs deep down to the bone. He needed to use a hot pad and do some stretching, but finding time to baby his leg didn't come easy. Besides he hated doing it, being reminded that he might need surgery someday to make it ever work right again. 

Ray ignored the pain and pushed open the door with his free hand and shoulder. "Hey, Renny, how's it going?"  
  
Turnbull stood up with a smile, hands behind his back, and greeted him. "Welcome to Canada, Ray. It's good to see you and it's going quite well, thank you kindly."  
  
The door shut quietly and locked in the cool air. "It feels great in here. No wonder you guys can wear wool all day and not break a sweat."  
  
"The Consulate's air conditioning is quite efficient. It's set at a constant 22 degrees for maximum comfort."  
  
"What's that in real temperature?"  
  
Turnbull's grin widened. "That would be approximately 70 degrees Fahrenheit to you, Ray."  
  
"Good, good, because it's hotter than hell outside. Ninety in the shade and still climbing." Before Turnbull could respond, Ray motioned his head toward Fraser's office. "So, is he back there?"  
  
"Yes, Ray."  
  
"You guys had lunch yet?"  
  
"No, Ray, we haven't."  
  
Ray dropped one of the white bags he carried on Turnbull's desk. "I've got an extra turkey on rye if you want it."  
  
"Why thank you, Ray, but I brought my own lunch today." Turnbull leaned over a little and whispered, "Peter's taking me to dinner tonight. I don't want to be too full."  
  
"Peter's still in the picture, huh? That guy treating you right?"  
  
"Oh, yes, Ray. He's treating me quite well. Thank you for asking."

"Good, because I'd kick his ass if he ever got out of line, you know that, right?"  
  
Turnbull's face softened and he nodded. "I appreciate the sentiment, Ray, but I don't think that will ever be necessary."  
  
"All right then." Ray picked up the bag and squared his shoulders, but still hesitated. "So, what kind of mood is he in?"  
  
"Mood, Ray?"  
  
"You know, mood, mood, like is he in a good mood or a bad mood?"  
  
For the first time Turnbull frowned in confusion and shook his head. "I'm not sure what you mean, Ray."  
  
"Never mind, never mind. I'll see for myself." Ray steeled himself to face the music. If Fraser was still pissed, he'd have to fix it.

Ray went down the hallway, found the door closed, and knocked. He heard the sound of wood scraping wood as Fraser got up from his desk and opened the door. Fraser's serious, nothing but business face softened, his eyes suddenly brighter and full of spark. "Ray."  
  
Ray lifted the deli bags and waved them in front of Fraser's nose. "Yep, that's me. You hungry? I brought lunch."  
  
Fraser smiled warmly and stepped back, letting Ray into the office. He closed the door and Diefenbaker lifted his head with a yip. "Hey, guy, don't worry, I brought you something, too."  
  
"I hope it's not a doughnut, Ray. He's gaining weight again."  
  
"Nope, no doughnut. Just some turkey, nice and lean."  
  
Fraser moved closer, his hand on Ray's shoulder. "Ray "

"I know, Fraser, I know. You don't have to say it. I'm sorry." Ray turned into Fraser's arms and closed his eyes, the hug a relief. He spoke quietly, his voice muffled slightly by the itchy serge of the uniform. "I didn't get up this morning saying, I think I'll be an asshole to the man I love, but somehow it happened. I'll work on it. That's all I can do."  
  
Strong arms squeezed and then released him. Fraser lifted Ray's chin, his lips capturing Ray's for a brief, but very firm kiss. No mistaking that Fraser loved sucking face and was good at it. Fraser pulled back and sighed. "We both have to work on it, Ray. It takes two to argue and we seem to be doing a lot of that these days. I find it very discomforting."  
  
"Me, too. I mean, do you think I like fighting all the time? Because I don't, Fraser. It sucks. I suck. I start stuff and I don't even know why." Ray dropped his head, his eyes closed. "I hate when we fight. I love you. I know you love me, I just don't always know how to deal with that."

Fraser frowned and stepped back, his butt braced on the edge of the desk as he stared at Ray. "You don't know how to deal with how I love you?"  
  
"Sometimes, no."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Ah, what? Don't start with the ah stuff or we're going to be fighting before we even make up."  
  
Fraser rubbed his right eyebrow and shook his head. "I just meant that's a very confusing statement, Ray. I'm not quite sure what you mean when you say something like that."  
  
"I don't know what I mean, either, not exactly."  
  
Fraser tilted his head, his eyes intense and trained on Ray. "I think you do."

Ray crossed his arms around himself, still not meeting Fraser's intense gaze. He leaned back against the desk next to Fraser, just touching shoulder to shoulder. "Look, it's just, well, I'm not used to being coddled "

"Coddled? Ray, I don't coddle."

"You coddle, Fraser."  
  
Fraser crossed his arms, too, his face as stubborn as Ray's. "How do I coddle?"  
  
"You pick up after me. You clean up the whole apartment. You do the laundry. You try to feed me all the time even when I'm not hungry. You "

Fraser held up a hand and cut him off. "Understood, Ray. What you refer to as coddling, I simply see as taking care of my partner as well as myself."  
  
"How do you see that?"  
  
"I live in the apartment, too. I realized when I first moved in that there was a huge disparity in our expectation of neatness and cleanliness."  
  
"You calling me a slob?"  
  
"Not exactly."  
  
"Good, because there are bigger pigs around than me, lots bigger. You could do a lot worse in that department, believe you me."  
  
"I'm aware of that, Ray, and since I'm the one who prefers a more tidy and organized existence, I took it upon myself to achieve that. I didnt mean to imply that you couldn't do it. I just prefer to."

"You prefer to? You like picking up after me and doing all the housework?"  
  
"I don't mind it, Ray."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really. In fact, I rather enjoy it. I've always found cleaning very satisfying. Im sorry if you took that as a disparagement of your own ability to do it. As for trying to get you to eat more, for that I won't apologize." Fraser reached out and took Ray's hand. "I love you. You still haven't gained back all the weight you lost this winter. I worry about you."  
  
Fingers laced together, Ray squeezed Fraser's hand. "I know that. I don't mean to worry you."  
  
"Then don't. Eat more."  
  
Nodding, Ray smiled as he reached for the bags. "Well, it just so happens, I brought us some stuff from Eli's Deli." Ray pulled out a sandwich and handed it to Fraser. "Turkey on rye with mayonnaise and mustard for you, beef and cheddar for me." Ray pulled out a small package of plain turkey along with the extra sandwich. He put them, minus the bread, in Diefenbaker's food dish next to his water bowl. The wolf didn't hesitate to dig in after he sniffed and dismissed the cat smell on Ray's sleeve as unimportant compared to lunch right under his nose.

Fraser went around his desk and sat down while Ray pulled up the side chair to sit next to Fraser. He dipped his hand in the other bag. "I've also got coleslaw and some sodas." Ray shook his cup and frowned. "Damn. All the ice melted."

"There's ice in the kitchen. I'll get it."  
  
Ray unwrapped his sandwich. "Never mind. It's still cold enough."  
  
"It'll only take a minute, Ray."  
  
"Stay put. You dont have to wait on me."  
  
Fraser hesitated and then nodded, giving in for the moment. He picked up his own sandwich and took a bite. He closed his eyes and sighed in appreciation as he chewed. "This is excellent, Ray."  
  
"Yeah, Eli's is a good place."  
  
"It's not just the food. It's the thought. This is very considerate."  
  
Ray shrugged as he took a quick drink. "It's sort of a peace offering. I didn't want to go the whole day with us being mad. It makes me feel bad, you know? It's all wrong."  
  
"I totally agree, Ray. I've felt out of sorts all morning. I've been busying myself with work, but I've thought about calling you off and on all morning to make amends."  
  
Ray put his sandwich down and wiped his mouth. "Yeah?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
"I suppose because I wanted to talk face to face to resolve our differences. I know how distracting police work can be."  
  
"You wanted my full attention, huh?"  
  
Their eyes met and Ray grinned as Fraser nodded. "Yes, Ray, I did."  
  
"Selfish bastard."  
  
"Now, Ray, you know that's not entirely true. Selfish perhaps, but never a bastard. While I might have been born in a barn, my parents were legally married at my birth."

"Born in a barn, huh?"  
  
"Yes, Ray. I've told you that before."  
  
Still teasing, Ray nodded and laughed. "Mr. Born in a Barn, huh? That explains a hell of a lot."

"If you're implying that my manners are anything but impeccable, I'll have to ask you to desist."  
  
"Manners, yeah, you've got those down pat, but you've got the instinct of a pack animal sometimes, and that's a whole different story."  
  
Dief lifted his head and barked several times in protest. Fraser nearly choked on his sandwich. Ray slapped him on the back a few times. "What'd he say?"  
  
"I won't repeat it, Ray, but let's just say he takes offense to any comment that would suggest that his instincts are less appropriate than your own."

Ray snapped his neck sideways with a sharp crack as he considered that statement and then grinned. "Yeah, well, he's got a point."  
  
Fraser smiled bigger than usual, but didn't make a comment. Instead, he focused on finishing his sandwich and coleslaw. Ray did the same, but after a few minutes, he sat back. "Fraser?"  
  
"Yes, Ray."  
  
"When do you think you're going to be finished with this whole trade conference thing?"

"Inspector Thatcher has given me the full responsibility of all the arrangements."

"Isn't that kind of weird, though? I mean, Ice Queen usually hangs around and takes most of the credit for this kind of deal. Why's she off in Canada if this is so important?"  
  
"Actually, I'm not supposed to know this, but Inspector Thatcher is in line for a particularly prestigious position at the main office. She's in the process of interviewing and being evaluated for it."  
  
"Way to go, Ice Queen. So she trusts you to handle all the details here?"  
  
"Yes, I believe she does."  
  
Ray nodded and shrugged. "That's good then. I mean, it's better than before when she had you and Renny running after dry cleaning and kissing her ass."  
  
"Language, Ray." Fraser didn't skip a beat as he continued. "I must admit, I was pleased to be offered the opportunity to show I could handle such a responsibility."  
  
Ray wouldn't meet Fraser's eyes as he wadded up the sandwich wrapper and put it back in the bag, feeling like a selfish prick for wanting Fraser to come back to work with him. "Good, I'm glad. It's about damn time, too."  
  
A hand captured Ray's. "What's wrong, Ray?"

"Nothin'."  
  
"Ray?"

"I miss you, that's all."  
  
"Miss me?"  
  
Reluctantly, Ray confessed. "On the job. I miss working with you. It's not the same working a case if I don't have you to push me off a tall building or make me crash a car into the lake or something crazy like that." Ray's voice got even softer as he complained, his voice nearly a whine. "And I miss you at home. You've been working late for weeks now, Fraser."  
  
A strong hand caressed Ray's cheek and lifted his face. "I miss you, too, Ray. I'm sorry about the late hours. I can remedy that tonight if you'd like."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yes. Why don't I come home at the regular time and we'll have dinner together?"  
  
"That'd be nice, that'd be really nice." Ray rubbed his face just once against the hand before pulling back and biting his lower lip. "I guess you working at the station's out until this trade thing is over though, right?"  
  
"Im afraid so, Ray. Of course, if you really need my help, I'll do my best to comply."  
  
"No, that's fine. I'm good. I can handle it."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Sure I'm sure."

"You're not just saying that to assuage my guilt for neglecting you?"

"Would I do that, let you off the hook that easy? Nope, not me. I'll just be glad when you can get out and work the streets again."  
  
"Me, too, Ray."  
  
Lips met and Ray wallowed in the glory of Fraser's talented tongue. After a few moments, Fraser pulled back. "Ray, I'm at work. We need to stop."  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"Or I might well become extremely inappropriate on Canadian soil."

"Inappropriate, huh?"  
  
"Very."

Ray laughed and let his forehead drop onto Fraser's shoulder. A slightly muffled, but familiar sound brought a wide grin to Ray's face. "You sniffing me again, Fraser?"  
  
"I love the way you smell, Ray."  
  
"I reek. I need a shower. I've been sweating like a pig all morning. I think my deodorant gave out somewhere around ten."

"On the contrary, Ray." Fraser took another deep breath and shuddered. "I find your natural scent intoxicating."  
  
"Turned on by my stink, huh?" Patting the back of Fraser's head, Ray chuckled. "You're a freak, you know that?"  
  
Fraser's husky voice answered with a request. "Tonight, Ray, after work, don't shower."  
  
Ray's throat went dry and his cock got interested in a hurry. Fraser knew he always liked to take a shower and change clothes as soon as he got home, especially after a hot day. He swallowed hard, his voice just a little shaky. "Don't shower as in don't shower?"  
  
"Don't shower. When I get home, I'll explain."  
  
Ray grinned, tiny tingles of excitement rushing up through his belly, getting the full drift of what that really meant in Fraserspeak. "Is that what we're calling it now, explaining?"  
  
Fraser snagged another quick kiss and then stood up. Ray admired his lover's self-control because he didn't think he could move without embarrassing himself for a few more minutes. He'd missed that feeling, that rush he got when Fraser took the initiative. "Thank you for lunch, Ray, but now I have to get busy if I'm going to be home for supper on time."  
  
"You expect me to go back out on the streets like this, all worked up?"  
  
Smiling that smug, sexy smile, Fraser ignored the question and stepped to the door. "I'm going to get some records from Turnbull. You can stay here for as long as you need in order to regain your composure."

"Composure, hell." Ray's eyes narrowed and then shook his head in amazement. "You did this on purpose."  
  
"Did what, Ray?"  
  
"Don't give me that innocent, I don't have a clue Mountie routine. I can't believe you did this after I brought you lunch and let you sniff me and everything. You suck, Fraser."  
  
Hand on the door, Fraser licked his lower lip suggestively. "Perhaps we can test that theory later tonight, Ray."  
  
As soon as he left, Ray banged his forehead on the desk a few times. Dief padded over and whined, putting his head on Ray's leg, not quite sure what to make of such weird behavior. Ray patted the wolf's head and got a fist full of undercoat for his troubles. "Jeez, Dief. You keep this up and you're going to be bald as a cue ball."  
  
The wolf pawed at his leg for reassurance, so Ray ruffled his coat some more, disregarding the flying fur all over Fraser's office. It'd serve him right for being such a cock tease. "Yeah, don't worry. He drives me nuts, but it's okay. It's a good kind of crazy."  
  
Crazy in love, that's what Ray thought as he stood up and headed out to catch bad guys until he could go home to get laid by the best guy he'd ever known. 

* * *

The heat turned Ray's brain to goo and just breathing what passed for air in Chicago gave him a headache he couldn't shake off. He walked into the station, disgusted with the heat and the traffic and just about everything around him, only to be assaulted by Dewey's stench. The bacon bits and fish smell permeated the whole squad room and even made its way down the hall. Ray figured a good hose-down might be in the cards before too long. That, along with a bucket of soapy water and some seriously strong cologne, might do the trick. In the meantime, he didn't know how a guy like Huey handled standing so close. It was weird, but the guy didn't seem to mind his partner stinking like some bloated two-week-old corpse they just fished out of the lake. Guess a guy could get used to anything sometimes. Go figure.

Walking to his desk, Ray sat down and scanned through the mess of pink message slips. He called over to Frannie. "Who the hell is Matt Cody?"  
  
Frannie didn't bother looking up. "Don't ask me."  
  
"He called six times and you didn't find out why?"  
  
Lifting her head from her work, she stared at Ray, her eyes narrowed and her lips tight. "Look, I just write 'em down. I asked him what he wanted, but he wouldn't say. It's not my job to broil 'em on the phone."  
  
"Broil 'em? You mean, grill 'em?"  
  
"Broil, grill, pan fry. Who the hell cares? Call him back and find out for yourself, wise guy."  
  
The heat made her words sharper than normal, so he gave her a pass for being bitchy as hell. He picked up the phone and punched in the number. After a couple of rings, a smoker's voice answered, "Matt Cody."  
  
"Ray Vecchio."

"You sure about that?"

Ray sat up a lot straighter, his gut tight, wondering, what the hell? "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothin'."

Ray didn't like it, didn't like it at all. The guy meant something, but he didn't know what. He let it drop for the moment. "I got your message to call."  
  
"About fucking time."  
  
The nasty tone didn't sit well, so he barked back. "Look, who the hell are you and what do you want?"  
  
"You pulled the Warner case."  
  
"Yeah. So?"  
  
"I've got information."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Not on the phone."  
  
Okay, okay, now he was cooking. "Come in and we'll talk."  
  
The guy laughed, one of those not so nice kind of laughs that gave Ray chills. "Not likely. You know Patty's down the street?"  
  
"Yeah, it's a dive two blocks from the station."  
  
"Meet me there in fifteen minutes."  
  
"Give me a good reason not to haul your ass in."  
  
Another throaty chuckle really pissed Ray off. "Listen, Vecchio, stop being a tough guy for five fucking minutes and just show up. It'll be worth it." The phone clicked and the call ended.

Ray hung up and shook his head. He didn't like being played and this felt like one big end run before he got decked. He got up, knocked on Welsh's office door, and then opened it. "Hey, Lieutenant, got a minute?"  
  
Welsh glanced up from his paperwork and waved him in. "Sure. What's going on?"  
  
"I got this weird call from some guy named Matt Cody. Says he has information on the Warner case, but wants to talk to me alone at some bar."  
  
"So what's the problem?"  
  
"I've got a bad feeling."  
  
Welsh sat forward, suddenly more alert. "You want back up?"  
  
Ray stepped in and closed the door. He ran a nervous hand through his hair and then crossed his arms. "Fraser's my back up."

"But since he's not around, why don't you take Huey until you know this guy's legit?"  
  
"Yeah, I could do that, but I've got a feeling this guy won't show his face if I do. I just wanted to tell you what was happening just in case, you know, something else happened."  
  
Putting his pen down, Welsh frowned. "This guy's got you spooked?"  
  
Ray hated to say it, to admit his own fear, but something wasn't right, so he swallowed hard and nodded. "A little, yeah."  
  
"Any particular reason why?"  
  
"Mrs. Owens, that's Warner's bookkeeper, she mentioned some guy Warner was arguing with recently. She said he had a low, very distinctive voice. This guy fits that bill. The thing is, she said the guy might be a cop."  
  
"A cop? Why didnt he say that when he called?"  
  
"Maybe he's undercover."

"Even so, he should tell you who he is."  
  
"Maybe he will when I see him. Thing is, I ran Warner's name and he's not listed as an official police informant. So if this guy's a cop and he was using Warner, he wasn't playing it by the book."  
  
"That's not unheard of."  
  
"No, but it's the kind of thing that can get a guy in trouble if the brass finds out. The guy might just be trying to cover his tracks. Or "

"Or what?"  
  
"I don't know. I can't explain it. Hell, I might be all wrong about this, but something's not right. When I said my name was Vecchio, he said, 'Are you sure about that?', like he knew I wasn't Vecchio."

Welsh rubbed his jaw, obviously concerned. "You think this is some bid at extortion?"

"If he's a cop, probably not, but it could be. Something's just queer about the whole thing."

"You've got good instincts. I trust them. You should, too." Welsh paused and then motioned to the squad room. "Take Huey. He doesn't have to go in, just wait outside until you're sure you're clear."  
  
"It's over 90 degrees out. He'll cook in a car."  
  
"Then let him stand on the corner. Just take him with you. That's an order. I dont want to take any chances."  
  
Ray nodded, relieved the decision was out of his hands. "Okay, okay, I can do that." He turned to leave but stopped. "Thanks, sir."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For not thinking I'm going nuts or something."  
  
"It's not nuts to be cautious. I'm glad you're finally realizing that and not trying to play cowboy."  
  
"Cowboy?"  
  
"Yeah, you know, trying to do things all by yourself."

"Come on, Lieutenant, would I do that?" 

The lieutenant ignored the comment as he continued, "What we do here, it's about teamwork. It pleases me to see you're finally realizing that on your own."  
  
Ray protested, his feelings dented. "I've always been a team player, Lieu."  
  
Welsh chuckled and shook his head, "Only if the team wore red. Now, find out what this guy wants and report back."  
  
Ray let the slur drop and headed out. After all, he couldn't deny doing the lone gun routine a time or two or maybe twenty. That didn't mean he couldn't play with the lineup if he had to. Welsh had it all wrong, well, mostly, well, maybe a little.

Stepping to his desk, he grabbed a couple of Tylenol and popped them with a half bottle of lukewarm water, hoping to knock the edge off the throbbing pain in his head and leg. Then he motioned to Huey to let him in on the plan. At least this way, the poor guy would get a break from his stinky partner.

* * *

Walking into Patty's was like stepping into the past, lots of dark corners with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer teasing the air. He could almost taste the liquor on his tongue, almost feel the sweet feathery traces down his throat to his belly. Ray took a second to adjust to the low light before glancing around. Cody hadn't said how to recognize him so he walked up to the bar to order. As he did, a raspy voice came from his right side. "Vecchio."  
  
Ray turned and studied the man beside him. Owens was right. He was good-looking in a over-sized, thuggish kind of way. "You Cody?"  
  
"Might be."  
  
"I dont have time for games."  
  
Nodding, taking the no nonsense attitude as a good sign, Cody raised his hand to the bartender. "Harry, two beers."  
  
The bartender slid the drinks down the bar and Cody paid the tab. He picked up the bottles, motioning for Ray to follow. As soon as they settled into a back booth, Cody pushed one of the beers in front of Ray. "Drink up."  
  
Ray hesitated, saw the challenge in the other man's deep blue eyes, like he didn't trust him enough to talk yet. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip, the flavor like a wash of heaven. Ray shuddered and then drank down half the bottle, his first drink in six months. He'd missed it, longed for it, craved it more than he ever wanted to admit.

Satisfied, Cody nodded in approval and started the conversation. "So, Vecchio, tell me what you know about Warner's murder so far."  
  
Ray put the beer down and shook his head. "You first. Who the fuck are you and why am I here?"  
  
Cody leaned in, his voice a whisper. "I've been working Warner for a couple of months now."  
  
"Working how?"  
  
"I'm a cop."  
  
"No shit."  
  
Cody frowned and sat back a little. "How'd you know?"  
  
"The bookkeeper, Mrs. Owens, figured it out. You should've identified yourself when you called me the first time."  
  
"Maybe, but what I'm going to tell you has to be off the record. I don't want this getting back to my boss."  
  
"Whos your boss?"  
  
"Captain Turner."  
  
Ray leaned forward, both hands wrapped around the bottle. "Fuck. You're undercover."  
  
"Say that a little louder and I won't be for long."  
  
Ray cracked his neck sideways, pissed at the whole fucked up situation. "What are you into that you dont want Turner to know about?"  
  
"First you have to promise me "

"I'm not promising shit."  
  
Blue eyes flashed. "No? Well, what if I said you don't look like a Vecchio? What if I said you look more like some Polack named Kowalski?"  
  
Ray grinned, his teeth bared, his instinct revved up and ready. "What if I turned your ass in to Turner today and he turned you over to the Feds by nightfall?"  
  
"Man, I'm just sayin' "

Ray snarled through his hard guy grin. "You're saying nothin' I want to hear, asshole."  
  
Sighing, Cody shook his head in defeat and then ran his right hand through his hair nervously. "Look, okay, okay, I get you can't promise anything, but hear me out first. We're on the same team. I didn't mean for things to get out of hand like this. I could lose my job over this shit."  
  
"Warner lost his life. Did you do something stupid that got him killed?"  
  
Cody shook his head and frowned. "No, at least I don't think so. I'm in this deep, but Warner was deeper."  
  
Frustrated, wanting more than anything to shake the shit out of this guy to speed up the flow of information, Ray snapped, "Deeper into what?"  
  
Looking around, suddenly more nervous, Cody shook his head again. "We can't talk here."

"I'm not "  
  
"Shut up and listen. Do what I say and don't ask any more questions. I'm going to get up and go to the can, nice and easy. You finish the beer and then leave through the front. Go down the north side alley and then I'll tell you what I know. Got it?"  
  
Something in the urgent tone overruled Ray's irritation. Cody was scared shitless all of a sudden, so he played along. Ray lifted his beer like a toast and took a sip while Cody slid out and headed to the back. 

The last long swallow triggered Ray's thirst even more. He'd order another if he had time, but he didn't. Still, the need was twisty and alive again, eating at his gut like some lazy snake greedy for sun after a long winter's sleep. He rubbed his face with both hands and then got up, made his way to the front. As he walked out, he noticed two new guys sitting at the bar, two goons who worked like hell to pretend they weren't watching his every move. Fuck.

Once out the door, Ray motioned to Huey and met him just to the front of the alley. "Look, this guy wants to talk down here."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I think we picked up company. Anyway, he's a cop, but he's into something that's got him jammed up. I don't know what yet. Stay here and if two guys who look like extras out of a bad mob movie show up, give me a whistle."  
  
"A whistle?"  
  
"Yeah, you can whistle, right?"  
  
"Sure, I can whistle. Any particular kind of whistle?"  
  
Ray shook his head in annoyance, thinking Huey being with Dewey made a hell of lot more sense. "Just whistle, damn it."  
  
Huey's frown deepened and then he reached into his pocket. He held out a roll of mints. "You might want a couple of these before we go back to the station, Ray."  
  
It didn't take a genius to catch what he really meant. Ray took two and handed back the roll. "I only had one."  
  
"One too many."  
  
"Fuck, Jack, it's not a big deal."  
  
"Maybe, but you know Welsh and booze. Everybody knows he's got a thing about it." Huey shrugged, playing it off. "I'm just saying."

Oh, yeah, Ray knew all about that, how Welsh hated juiceheads, how he'd already warned Ray once before. Still, Ray couldn't talk about it, wouldn't talk about it, not right now and not with Huey. He didn't have time to deal with his fuck up right that second. "Yeah, well, don't worry about it. Whatever happens is on me. Just watch for those two guys. They show up, whistle or whatever."  
  
"Ray, be careful."  
  
Nodding, Ray headed down the alley in a hurry. He saw Cody standing to the right of a dumpster, halfway to the other end. It gave him a clear view of each entrance. "Okay, enough of the cops and robbers shit. Tell me what the fuck's going on. First off, tell me how you know my name."

"You used to be married to Stella Kowalski. Since she ain't going by Vecchio, I put two and two together, you know? Not a big stretch, especially since I knew Ray Vecchio from before. You don't even look like the guy. Why'd they put you under as him?" Cody shrugged before he added, "Who the hell knows why the fuck the brass does shit, right?"

The guy figured it out way too easy and that bothered Ray a lot. Still, he couldnt think about that right now, couldn't worry about the danger of being found out by another set of mob guys who could put Vecchio six feet under with a single phone call. He'd save that shit for later. He turned his attention fully on Cody. "Right, right, okay, so forget about that and just tell me what the fuck's going on with the Warner thing."  
  
Cody looked both ways first and still kept his voice down low. "You remember that kid you shot last year?"  
  
Ray's blood chilled, like he could ever forget shooting a 14-year-old boy who tried to blow his head off. He kept his voice steady, amazed at sounding normal even to his own ears. "Clay Biggs? Yeah, I remember him. What about him?"

"He was carrying an AK-47. I've been trying to track down where he and the whole gang he ran with got their guns."  
  
Ray held up a hand in confusion. "Wait a minute. What's that got to do with Warner?"  
  
"Warner knew who it was, who was supplying the guns to the local gangs."  
  
"Warner? No way. The guy ran a pawn shop for a kabillion years. What'd he know about black market guns?"  
  
"He wasn't just some harmless little old shopkeeper, Kowalski. He swam with some sharks, some big, hungryass sharks."  
  
The light went on. Fuck. "And you wanted him to give you the names."  
  
"Yeah. He's snitched before, but nothing official. I was trying to push him to give me more."  
  
"More? What'd he give you?"  
  
"A name, nothing I could use to bring the guy in yet."  
  
Ray kept his ears and eyes open for any intruders, while he figured out what all that meant. No way did he want to get bushwhacked by mob guys on top of getting ambushed with his past. He still had nightmares about the Biggs kid. Ray rubbed his face, fighting off the terrible headache that just wouldnt go away. "That's what you were arguing about the other day in the store, right? Warner wanted out."  
  
"Yeah, and Turner told me to drop it weeks ago, but I couldn't. I'm not even supposed to be anywhere near this case."  
  
"And that's why you don't want Turner to know you kept pushing."  
  
"Yeah. I mean, Warner's murder might not be about this. It might be something totally different. From what I heard, his murder wasn't a pro job."  
  
Ray wondered like hell how Cody already knew about that. The guy must have pretty good sources both in and out of the department. "No, not a pro job. It looked personal."  
  
"Or it could've been done like that to throw you off the track."  
  
"What track? You're not giving me shit here, Cody. I need a name. Who was it that Warner knew who was supplying guns to kids on the street?"  
  
The name hit him like a solid gut punch. "Sean O'Malley."  
  
Fuck and double fuck. Ray took a few seconds to catch his breath before he spoke, his words tight. "You're sure about that?"  
  
"You think I'd say that name if I didn't have to? O'Malley's a big fish."  
  
"A fucking whopper."  
  
"Yeah, I know. Ever since Clooney got offed and he got cut loose by the Feds, he's been working harder than ever to take over where Clooney left off. Drugs, prostitution, guns, you name it."  
  
Ray closed his eyes and shook his head. Of all the names he'd expected, it sure as hell hadn't been O'Malley's, Clooney's old running buddy. Ray could hardly breathe. Clooney, Clooney, the name of the man who'd cut him up and raped him echoed in his head, the haunting memory like being swallowed alive. A hand settled on his shoulder and jarred him back to the present. "Kowalski? You okay?"  
  
Ray pulled away, his gut knotted. He had to swallow three times to find enough spit to make words. "O'Malley's under federal investigation. We're supposed to be hands off. They told us that months ago."  
  
"Yeah, that's what Turner said."  
  
"But you didn't listen."  
  
Cody's voice got even raspier. "He's selling fucking machine guns and drugs to kids, man. The Feds are just sitting on their asses doing nothing. I thought if I could get enough information, I could get him off the streets."  
  
Ray could certainly understand the motivation, but knew from experience a plan like that needed more than one measly undercover cop working on his own. A picture cleared in his head about the connection between Cody and his victim. "But Warner got scared, backed out, and then you got pissed."  
  
"Yeah, and somehow I think O'Malley found out about me trying to flip Warner."  
  
Ray studied the features, could practically smell the fear rolling off the other man. He sympathized. O'Malley was as bad as Clooney, worse in some ways when it came to running his business. O'Malley didn't have the same appetites and kinks to distract him from getting the job done like Clooney did. O'Malley kept his focus trained on making a profit no matter who he had to kill to get it. 

Ray cleared his throat, thinking as fast as he could to figure out how to fix the mess before it got worse. "Look, you've got to go in and talk to Turner about this. It's too big to handle on your own and I can't keep your name out of it when I talk to my lieutenant."  
  
Cody sagged against the wall. "Fuck. I was afraid you were going to say that."

"It's the only way."  
  
"But what if Warner's death has nothing to do with O'Malley? I'd be in the shit for nothing."  
  
Ray shook his head, moving more into Cody's space. "You fucked up. Whether Warner's death has to do with this mess or not, O'Malley's onto you. You have to get off the streets."  
  
Cody wasn't stupid enough to deny the truth. "You're talking about those two goons following me, right? You think they're with O'Malley?"  
  
"They're definitely hired muscle. I dont know who else you've pissed off lately, but they're working for somebody."  
  
Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm fucked. Turner's going to suspend me."  
  
"Better that than I have to find you hacked up in little pieces washing up on the shore of Lake Michigan." Ray took a deep breath and kept his voice steady. "Because that's what he'll do. He'll chop you up and spread you around so there won't be enough to bury. The man doesn't usually off cops, but he could always make an exception. I won't even try to guess how many people he's taken out and made into fish food. You cross O'Malley, he's going to cut your dick off first before he hacks up the rest. Son of a bitch wants you to feel it."  
  
Cody frowned and studied Ray closer, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. "You sound like you know this O'Malley pretty good, better than just reading about him in some report."  
  
"Let's just say we've had dealings before and drop it."  
  
Eyes narrowed and then Cody's mouth rounded in horror. "Oh, shit. You're the one."  
  
"Im the one what?"  
  
"Hanlon's partner, the one Clooney had a thing for and got killed over." Suddenly more pale, Cody slammed the brick wall behind him with an open hand. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you. I thought you quit the force, you know, after what happened. Nobody knew the name of the other cop, but it was you. I'm an asshole. Fuck me." 

Anger welled up, a red wall of nothing but pain. Ray punched a fist into the man's chest, backing him up against the side of the dumpster. "Shut the fuck up. You're talking about stuff you don't know shit about."  
  
"Man, I'm sorry."  
  
Ray hit him again, this time with as much force as he could muster. Cody held his jaw but never attempted to defend himself or hit back. The sympathy in those dark blue eyes made Ray sick to his stomach. He bit back the urge to puke as he got in the man's face. "Listen up. Focus. You're going in, tell Turner the deal, take whatever licks you've got to take. The rest of it, that thing about Clooney, that's none of your fucking business, got that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got that. I'm s "

Ray raised his fist to the man's face. "Fair warning. Say it again and I'll fucking break your jaw." Swallowing back his next words, Cody simply nodded and waited. Ray couldnt think straight, but he shook himself all over and that helped, at least for the moment. "Okay, okay, here's the deal. I've got a man out at the end of the alley. We go out that way, get in my car, and get the fuck out of here as fast as we can. Turner will have to decide how much danger you're in."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"What about me?"  
  
"They saw you with me. They'll find out you're investigating Warner. They might think you're a threat."  
  
"Then they're smarter than they look." Once again, Ray glanced both ways and then motioned for Cody to follow. "Stick with me. So far, so good."  
  
Ray had his hand on his gun the whole way, knowing deep down if he heard a whistle, he'd pop whoever came near him. 

But no whistle came.

Relieved, they walked out and joined Huey. They all headed to Ray's car, Ray talking as he walked. "Anybody show any interest in the alley?"  
  
"A couple of guys started up, but saw me and stopped. They turned around and left. I've got the car model and plate number."  
  
"It'll probably be bogus, but we'll run it anyway. Quick thinking. Let's get back to the station." He motioned his head towards Cody. "I've got a package to deliver."  
  
Huey held out his hand. "I'm driving."  
  
Ray stared at his friend, not quite sure if he'd heard right. "What?"  
  
"I'm driving."  
  
"Huey "  
  
"I've got Fraser's number on speed dial. Don't make me use it."  
  
Standing by the GTO, Ray grumbled as he dug out his keys and handed them over. "This is stupid. I only had one."  
  
Huey shrugged as he unlocked the passenger's side. "Yeah, well, Dewey never lets me drive."  
  
Ray pulled the seat forward and kept his eyes open for any surprises as Cody climbed in the back. Then he got in the front seat, the heat sweltering. It figured Huey would be pussy-whipped by Dewey, but he'd never say that out loud, not unless he was drunk first. "So you're taking that out on me?" 

Huey didnt answer, just turned on the engine with a big smile, his face dreamy as he pulled into traffic. "This is a great car, Ray. You ever think about selling it?"  
  
"Never going to happen." Ray gave up being pissed about having to hand over his keys. Huey was a good guy, a good friend even if he did overreact sometimes. "You know, you should stand up to Dewey. Make him let you drive sometimes."

Huey looked at him like he was crazy. "You've never really worked with the guy. He can make your life miserable."  
  
"By stinking up the place, yeah."  
  
"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about other stuff, and if I let him drive, it's not so bad. So it's kind of a trade off. I get a little peace and quiet and he gets to sit behind the wheel."  
  
"I'd have to hose him down and put him in the trunk until he stopped being an asshole."

Chuckling, Huey pulled into the station parking lot and turned off the engine. "You're lucky, Ray. You've got Fraser. Me, I've got Dewey. We both do what we have to do to keep the peace. If I really wanted to drive, I'd drive, but I'd know to start with that I'd have to pay for it later. That's just the way it is."  
  
Ray swallowed hard, pretty sure he was getting the message. Fraser put up with a lot, but he had limits. Ray didn't argue, just climbed out of the car and pulled the seat forward for Cody. "Come on. We'll call Turner and the Feds and get this shit over with."

* * *

"But it's my case, my collar. I'm not giving it up because of some federal fuck up."  
  
Captain Robert Turner, head of all undercover operations in Chicago, stood by Welsh's desk, his face grim and his position firm. "You dont have a choice, Ray. You're off the case, no discussion. The FBI have been working on this for months."  
  
"And they haven't done shit about it."  
  
"Maybe so, but that's not your problem."

"It is when it fucks up my case."

"We're not even sure this case is about O'Malley. If the Feds take it over and find out it's not connected, they'll kick it back to you. Otherwise, it stays with them. For now, you're out of the picture."  
  
Sitting on the sofa, Ray crossed his arms, still pissed as hell. "This sucks."  
  
"Yeah, it does, but it'd suck worse if O'Malley decided you were too much trouble."  
  
"Son of a bitch should be in prison."  
  
"He should be. We both know why he's not."  
  
The matter-of-fact comment stopped Ray's rant in its tracks. He couldn't let himself think about how killing Clooney to save Ray got O'Malley a free pass to keep being a mobster. He swallowed back his next argument and nodded in acknowledgement of the facts. Ray closed his eyes briefly, warding off any thoughts of Clooney's attack. Instead, he swerved and headed in a different direction. "Okay, I get that. So what about Cody?"  
  
Ray didn't think it was possible, but Turner's expression got even harder. "Cody's not your concern."  
  
"Come on. I know the Feds took him. What's going to happen to the guy?"  
  
Turner hesitated, but then relented. "He's in protective custody for now. They're debriefing him. They want to know everything he's done for the last month, ever since he decided to go solo and go after O'Malley. Stupid son of a bitch has no idea how much shit he's in."  
  
"You think he's got something they can actually use to take the guy down?"  
  
"I don't know. I still can't believe that asshole did this after I warned him not to."  
  
"He just wanted to do some good, Captain."  
  
Turner snapped. "Good? What good is it if he gets his ass killed on my watch? He's supposed to be undercover on something completely different. That case is in the toilet now and Cody might end up dead or locked away for god knows how long. The Feds don't take interference lightly. If they want to put him away indefinitely for obstruction, they can do it. He could drop off the face of the earth and there's not a goddamn thing I can do to stop it."  
  
Ray leaned forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "They can do that?"  
  
Snorting, Turner pinched the bridge of his nose, the strain making him look a lot older than his fifty years. "They can do whatever the hell they want, Ray. All they have to do is use a few buzzwords and Cody will be lucky to get out before he's my age."  
  
"Fuck. That's not right."  
  
"Tell that to the Feds. Right now, I've got a different problem."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"How the fuck did Cody know who you were?"  
  
Ray sat back, still more than a little unsettled about that himself. "He said he knew Vecchio from before and that he knew that I'd been married to Stella. I guess because Stella still uses her married name, he put it together. I mean, the guy might've fucked up on the case, but he's not stupid."  
  
"No, no, he's not." Turner paced a couple of times and then stopped in front of Ray. "I don't like it. I dont like that one of my own cops figured this out and tried to use it against you."  
  
In spite of himself, Ray felt bad for the guy so he played it down. "He was just looking for some leverage. It's not like he actually did anything with it."  
  
"No, but even the fact he thought about it, pisses me off. Still, what concerns me more is he figured it out. How many others who aren't in the loop might do the same thing and cause a problem, either deliberately or just out ignorance? Who knows, who doesn't know? It's like a fucking mine field."  
  
Ray had the same worry. "Have we heard whether or not Vecchio's had any problems with his cover?"  
  
Turner griped, "You think the fucking Feds would tell me shit about that just because I'm a captain and he was one of my guys? Fuck that. Fuck them. This whole situation stinks."  
  
Ray agreed, but he didn't bother saying so. Turner already had an earful of what he thought about the Feds. "So what do we do?"  
  
"About what? Vecchio?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Nothing. There's nothing we can do. You're stuck being Vecchio until they decide differently."  
  
"Even if the cover's weak and full of holes?"  
  
"Even so."  
  
Ray shook his head as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. "It just seems risky. I mean, I'm not afraid of taking a few chances, Captain, but to just walk around with our eyes closed to the possibility that some numbskull out there could blow our covers is stupid. Seems like it's just asking for trouble."  
  
Turner walked over and sat down behind Welsh's desk. "I'm not arguing with you, Ray. I just follow orders here the same as you do."

Turner's fatigue made the words drag a little. That surprised Ray. He'd never seen his commanding undercover officer so down, so stretched to his limits. "Anything else going on I should know about, sir?"  
  
"Isn't this Cody fuck up enough?"  
  
"Yeah, well, maybe, but you look a little rough around the edges. I don't think that's just about Cody."  
  
Instead of taking offense, Turner leaned forward and cleared his throat. "If you want to know the truth, I'm worried about you in all this mess. I think you should lay low for a few days, Ray."  
  
"Me? How come?"  
  
"I'm going to tell Welsh to put you on a desk for a while until we know for sure whether you're back in O'Malley's radar."  
  
Fear and anger fought to control his tongue. Anger won out. "I ain't riding a desk over this shit, Captain. I've got other cases. I can't work from behind a desk."  
  
"It's either that or you take time off. Or if all else fails, I could lock your ass up in a safe house somewhere until this all blows over."  
  
"Come on, Captain, that's nuts."

"Listen, Kowalski, I dont want you running around on your own until we know for sure how much of a hornet's nest Cody stirred up. I'm not taking any chances on this. You've got a history with O'Malley and he knows you're good, better than good." Turner hesitated, but then added, "Hell, probably the only reason you're not dead yet is because he knows you're a hard ass and because of your Mountie friend."

Ray's eyes narrowed, unsure about what his Captain meant exactly, but damn sure he didn't like the sound of it. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means, Constable Fraser is well known for protecting his partner. Coming after you would cause O'Malley more trouble than it's worth, or at least it has been. Problem is, he might decide that it's worth it to get you out of the way if he thinks you're coming after him anyway. Everybody knows what happens when you get your teeth into something."  
  
"You saying you really think O'Malley's afraid of me and Fraser?"  
  
"If he's smart, which he is, yeah."  
  
Ray took that as both a compliment and a warning. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face with both hands as he gave in. "A desk, huh?"  
  
"A desk."  
  
"Just a few days?"  
  
"I'm hoping, yes. We'll have to play it by ear until we know what's really going on."  
  
Ray lifted his head, meeting Turner's concerned gaze. "Put a fire under the Feds. You know me and sitting around."  
  
Turner nodded grudgingly. "Yeah, I know. Nothing but trouble."

"With a capital T."  
  
Turner stood up and took a deep breath as he smoothed out the bottom edge of his jacket and straightened his tie. "God, it's hotter than hell in here."  
  
"City taxes at work, sir."

"Right. Makes sense." Turner stepped to the door as he spoke. "I know a guy or two. I'll see what I can do to get somebody over here to fix it. Meanwhile, you watch your back. I'll tell Welsh about the plan."  
  
"Plan? You call parking me at a desk while the Feds fuck around a plan?"  
  
"For now, Ray, that's all we've got. Deal with it."  
  
"Easy for you to say."  
  
Turner didn't bother to answer and defend his actions, but stepped out and motioned for Welsh to walk him to his car. Meanwhile, Ray didn't move, just sat there, thinking how much he hated the Feds and their fucking interference in his life. He didn't dare think about what Fraser would do when he found out about the whole resurfacing of the Clooney/O'Malley connection.

* * *

Ray kept his eyes squeezed shut and concentrated very hard on not puking. The headache settled right at the base of his skull, pounding away, refusing to let up. He steadied himself against the kitchen sink and turned on the tap. Dipping and turning his head sideways, he let the cool water rinse his heated cheeks for several minutes before he finally shut it off and then reached for a towel. He dried his face and then rinsed the cloth out, folding it into a pad. Stepping over to the sofa, he sat down and put the cold, wet compress over his eyes. 

Ray hated the way his head worked sometimes, how it ran a Technicolor freak show, all his worst memories running through his brain like some kind of Nightmares Are Us with no off switch in sight. One fuck up after another paraded through his brain, all his senses kicked in on high to relive the most gut-wrenching moments of his life. 

Behind closed lids, Clooney's bloated face flashed out of nowhere. Ray shivered with cold, with fear, with knowing. The knife blade stung Ray's chest as he gagged on the coppery flood of blood over his tongue, the rise of bile in his throat. Clooney's taunts, his insults, his threats, each one followed by blinding blows and pain, reinforced the terror Ray carried like a ton of bricks in his belly. 

Almost seven months later and he still walked around like some whack job, ambushed time and time again. Fuck therapy and fuck dealing with the same shit over and over. Nothing worked. No matter what he did, he ended up punch drunk and sick of the whole damn thing, ended up trapped and spinning around in circles going nowhere. He just wanted to forget and move on, not keep driving top speed into a fucking brick wall with no goddamn way to stop. 

Still all twitchy inside, Ray took a deep breath and stretched out on the sofa. One hand kept the cool cloth over his eyes while the other fingered the gold ring on the chain around his neck, the ring that he never took off. Ray thought about how he and Fraser exchanged vows, made a commitment, pretty much did the whole 'til death do us part thing at Christmas. It kept Ray going, knowing that Fraser loved him like that. When Fraser made a promise, he meant business, no pussyfooting around, his love unconditional no matter how nuts Ray might get. Crazy Mountie said he loved him no matter what. Go figure. 

Ray had to admit that kind of commitment made all the difference, kept Ray going when it would've been a hell of a lot easier just to step in front of bullet and get it over with. He couldn't do that, not with Fraser in the picture, not as long as Fraser stayed with him and kept him from jumping off the deep end where nobody could reach him.  
  
No, it was Fraser who kept Ray alive, kept Ray going even when it hurt like hell more often than not. 

The thing was, life got easier for a while, almost like Ray might be getting back to what passed for normal again. Ray actually had a few days at a time when he didn't spend more than a few minutes thinking about all that shit from before. Now O'Malley sucker punched him out of nowhere and he was back at the starting gate, the fear like a knife to his throat all over again. 

Fuck that. He hated how his head worked sometimes.

Still gripping his ring like a charm, Ray tried to remember that meditation thing Fraser taught him, the deep, calming breaths, the visualizing of some place safe. He imagined Fraser's arms around him, his deep voice soothing, keeping him centered. He could do this, had to do this. Clooney, O'Malley, those lowlifes wouldn't beat him, wouldn't make him lose his fucking mind without a hell of a fight. He just had to figure out a better way to deal with all the shit, all the weight of memories he carried in the back of his mind. Dance, go to the gym, make love to Fraser, whatever kept the demons at bay, even for a second, he'd take it.

Lying in the cool darkness of the apartment, Ray sighed and braced himself as he heard the turn of the key in the lock. He waited as the door opened and Fraser came inside before locking it behind him. It took all of twenty seconds for Fraser to ask, "Ray, what's wrong?"  
  
Ray took off the cloth and then sat up, his headache even worse than before. Eyes squinted, he patted the cushion beside him. "Have a seat."  
  
Fraser put his hat on the coffee table and sat down, his voice tight. "Ray, are you ill? Has something happened?"  
  
"Yeah and yeah. My head's killing me and my case is all fucked up by the Feds."

"Did you take anything?"  
  
"A couple of Tylenol. They haven't kicked in yet." Ray rubbed his temples with his fists and kept his eyes closed. "It'll pass. God, even the light hurts."  
  
Fraser's hand moved to between Ray's shoulder blades and rubbed gently through the T-shirt. "Perhaps a massage would help."

"Thanks, but I'm too wired."  
  
"I think that's the point of the massage, Ray, to make you less wired, as it were."  
  
"Look, maybe later. Right now, I need to tell you what's going on. Except, I know you."  
  
"I should hope so."  
  
Ray ignored the sarcasm and continued. "Which means that I want you to promise me you won't freak out when I tell you what happened."  
  
Fraser's frown deepened. "Ray, just tell me what's going on."  
  
"Promise me first."  
  
"I promise to keep my response as appropriate as possible."  
  
Ray shook his head and stood up, complaining, pointing an accusing finger at Fraser. "See, see there. There it is, that thing you do."  
  
"Thing? What thing?"  
  
"You know, that thing, that thing where you say something that covers up what you're really going to do, because trust me, Fraser, you're going to freak out when you hear this shit. I just want you to promise me that you won't get too crazy, okay?"  
  
"Perhaps if you actually told me what it is I'm not supposed to get crazy about, Ray, it would help."  
  
Ray took a deep breath and sat back down again. "You know that Warner case I had, the old man who got beat up and stabbed at the pawn shop?"  
  
"Yes, you mentioned it."  
  
"Well, it seems like he might be hooked up with O'Malley."  
  
Fraser reached out and gripped Ray's arm with alarm. "Sean O'Malley?"  
  
"Yeah, the one and only."  
  
"Dear Lord."  
  
"Yeah, which is why the Feds are involved. We were all warned off the guy after, well, you know what after."  
  
Fraser's voice softened. "Ray, are you all right?"  
  
"Hell, no, I'm not all right. I mean, the Feds took the case and Turner has me on a desk until they're sure O'Malley doesn't want to come after my ass."  
  
"Does Captain Turner think that's a real possibility?"  
  
Ray bit his lower lip, keeping his eyes off Fraser. "Real enough to threaten to put me in a safe house if I don't stick to a desk until they get some shit straightened out."  
  
"At least he's being cautious."  
  
"That's not the half of it."  
  
"Good God, there's more?"  
  
Ray proceeded to fill him in on all the details about Cody and the possible break in the Vecchio cover. When he finished, Fraser shook his head in amazement. "I don't understand why the federal agents in charge wouldn't pull Ray and you from the operation. It's obvious that your covers might have been seriously compromised at this point. Why take such a risk to continue?"

"The only thing I can figure is that whatever the hell Vecchio's doing, it must be pretty damn big."  
  
Fraser didn't let it go. "But to continue to put police officers in unnecessary jeopardy is irresponsible."  
  
"Unless he's in so deep that to pull him out now might put him or me in even more danger. He could be at a critical point, doing who the hell knows, to bring down some big deal mobster. The Feds wouldn't want to give up on that unless they absolutely had to. It doesn't matter to them that my ass is on the line, too. We're in the dark here because we've got no details, nothing to go on, and it sucks."  
  
Fraser studied him and then reluctantly nodded. "I agree, Ray."  
  
"With what?"  
  
"That it's a miserable situation."  
  
Ray sagged back against the cushion, most of his remaining energy drained away. "Miserable doesn't even cover this, Fraser. The whole undercover thing is bad enough, but to have O'Malley back in the picture after all this time, well, fuck. I thought I was through with all that."  
  
Fraser reached out and drew him closer, Ray's head resting on his shoulder. Fingers teased Ray's hair as Fraser whispered, "Ray, O'Malley isn't Clooney."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Federal agents have O'Malley under constant surveillance. It would be foolish for him to make any kind of move against you. From everything you've told me about him, he's anything but a foolish man."  
  
Ray closed his eyes, calmed by Fraser's loving touch. "I know that. I know that. It's just I've got this crazy thing going on and it gets away from me sometimes."  
  
"It's not crazy to be worried or cautious. We just have to be more vigilant and I'm sure that's why Turner has taken the precaution of restricting your duty."  
  
"Still sucks."  
  
"Indeed, Ray, it does."  
  
Fraser kissed the top of his head and Ray sighed. "I thought for sure you'd freak out."  
  
Still embracing him, Fraser squeezed him gently. "You're safe, Ray. That's all that matters to me."  
  
"But for how long?" Ray sat up, his worst fears off and running again. "I mean, what are the odds that I'd pull a case that puts me smack dab in the middle of all this shit again? I mean, what's that about? It's like fate's got it in for me or something."

Using his most reasonable voice, Fraser disagreed. "I don't think it's fate, Ray."

"That's because you don't believe in fate, Fraser."

"True, but logically speaking, Sean O'Malley is a criminal in the city where you work. His nefarious dealings apparently cover a wide variety of corruptions. It really isn't unforeseen that at some point your paths would eventually cross." 

"You saying you figured this would happen someday?"  
  
"I'm saying I'm not surprised, no."  
  
Ray frowned and shook his head. "And you didn't say anything?"  
  
"What was there to say, Ray? It's just a matter of probability. I had hoped that by this point the federal agents in charge of the investigation would have managed to develop a case to arrest him. The fact that they haven't concerns me."  
  
"Concerns me, too. Asshole should've been locked up months ago." 

"Eventually justice will win out, Ray."  
  
"You really believe that? You really believe that a prick like O'Malley will ever get what he deserves?"  
  
Fraser palmed Ray's back and nodded reassuringly. "I do."  
  
"Not soon enough for me."  
  
"Or me."

Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, Ray dropped his face to his hands. "I'm just sick of dealing with all this."  
  
"I know."  
  
After a few moments, Ray lifted his head. "I held off on the shower like you asked, but to be honest, I'm really not in the mood."  
  
"I don't mind, Ray. You've had an eventful and emotionally draining day. Take a shower and relax. I'll fix us something for supper."

"Thanks. Sounds good." Fraser leaned in and kissed Ray briefly, pulling back with a frown. Ray hated that look, that face filled with equal shares of worry and disappointment. "What?" 

"You've been drinking."  
  
Ray's head jerked back in surprise. "How'd you know that?"  
  
"I can taste it."  
  
"You can taste one beer I had four hours ago even after I brushed my teeth?"  
  
Fraser held his gaze, not distracted by the questions. "Ray, you've been sober for six months."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm sober now."  
  
"Even one beer is still drinking, Ray."  
  
"Doesn't mean I'm not sober." Ray stood up, his chest tight and his stomach all in knots. "Look, I had one lousy beer. It's not like I went out and tied one on, not like I really got plastered and did something dumb. I had one stupid drink. People all over the world do it all the time. It's no big deal."  
  
Fraser sat back, his arms crossed, his face filled with that stubborn determination that got Ray's goat sometimes. "It's a very big deal, Ray. You can't drink."  
  
"I can't? Who says? You? Some shrink? Just because I had a problem before doesn't mean I can't handle it now."  
  
"Do you honestly believe that?"  
  
"Look, if I want a beer, I'll have a fucking beer. I'm not planning on going on a bender. I just wanted something to take the edge off. I deserve that. I shouldnt have to answer to you or anybody else about having a few drinks."  
  
Fraser voice stayed steady, his lips in a tight line. "But it's rarely just a few drinks with you, Ray. You know that."  
  
"Before, yeah, I'll admit I had a problem. I just needed to get a few things straight in my head, that's all. Things are different now. I can handle it, Fraser."  
  
Still stubborn, still relentless, Fraser shook his head. "I disagree."  
  
"No fucking kidding."  
  
The hurt etched every line of Fraser's face. He stood up, grabbed his hat, and motioned for Deifenbaker. "I'm going for a walk, Ray. You do what you want."  
  
Ray caught Fraser's arm. "Wait."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"At least change out of the uniform. It's like a hundred degrees out."  
  
Fraser hesitated, but then shook his head again. "I need to think, Ray. I don't want to be here right now. I dont want to argue, not when I'm this upset."

Ray moved in closer, his body next to Fraser's, regret fueling his words. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like me drinking. I get that. You've got reason to think what you think." Before Fraser said a word, Ray put a finger to his lips and shushed him. "But dont leave like this, Fraser, don't just walk out." Swallowing hard, Ray put his forehead against Fraser's and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm a jerk."  
  
Instead of his usual forgiveness, Fraser whispered a hammer blow Ray never saw coming. "You're an alcoholic, Ray. Being sorry doesn't change that."  
  
Stepping back, stunned, Ray met concerned blue eyes. "You really believe that? You think I'm a drunk?"  
  
"An alcoholic."  
  
"Same thing."  
  
"No, it's not. You've been in recovery for six months, something for which you should be very proud. I want that to continue." Fraser hesitated, his eyes and voice intense. "I **need** that to continue."  
  
Ray backed away and rubbed his mouth with one hand, not really sure what to say or what to think. Fraser said it out loud, made it real, put a wall between them. Anger and suspicion suddenly wound up through his gut and spilled out. "Reese tell you that? Did he tell you that I'm a drunk?"  
  
"What I believe has nothing to do with Dr. Reese's evaluation of your behavior, Ray."  
  
Ray paced the small room as Fraser stood still. "You ever talk about it with him, talk about me and the booze?"  
  
"What I discuss with my therapist is private, Ray. We agreed."  
  
Jaws clenched, even more fired up, Ray shook his head in disbelief and anger. "You did. You fucking talked about it, about me."  
  
Fraser countered. "Are you saying you never talked to Dr. Collier about me?"  
  
"That's different."  
  
"How so?"  
  
Ray stopped moving and bit back his next argument. "Okay, okay, maybe it's not really different. It just feels different. It's just, just, I dont know, lousy to talk about me like I'm some bum who can't get off the sauce. It's not like that."

Fraser turned the hat in his hands, snapped his head sideways with a crack, and then stepped to the door. When his hand reached the knob, Ray touched his arm again. "I mean it, Fraser. I'm okay. You don't have to worry about this. I've got it under control. It's not going to be a problem this time, I swear."  
  
"Who are you trying to convince, Ray, me or yourself?"  
  
Before Ray could scrape up an answer, Fraser walked out, taking Diefenbaker with him. Standing there, all alone, Ray slammed a fist into the doorjamb. Pain shot up his arm, pain he richly deserved for being such an asshole. "Well, fuck."

* * *

Ray sat at the table, his hair still damp from the shower. He fiddled with a Sprite can, his right leg nervously bouncing as he waited. Still reeling from Fraser's unexpected reaction, he went over what he needed to say to make the whole mess right. Bottom line, he needed Fraser. If Fraser really, truly wanted him to swear off the bottle, he could do that. He didn't like it, but he'd do it or at least try to. How hard could it be? He'd lasted six months this last time. He could do it again, no problem, other than he really didn't want to. Somehow he had to explain that to Fraser, get it through his thick skull that it wouldn't be like before, that he could handle it better now that he had his shit together.  
  
Ray closed his eyes and rolled the cool aluminum over his forehead, the condensation wet and cold against his skin. He shuddered, remembering the yeasty flavor of the beer earlier that day, how it touched him, how just one whiff gave him a rush he'd missed for a long time. He wet his lower lip, his thirst growing, wishing like hell Fraser would let up and give in, not make such a big fuss over having a few beers. Maybe if he loosened up and had a few himself, he'd realize what the hell he was missing. No chance of that, though, none, zero, forget about it. Once Fraser made up his mind, might as well carve it in granite. The man he loved had a head as hard as a fucking rock.  
  
Ray heard the clicking of claws and the familiar step of Mountie boots in the hallway. He stood up as soon as Fraser and Diefenbaker entered the apartment. Before he spoke, Fraser held up a hand to stall any conversation. "Wait, Ray. I need to get a shower and change. Then we'll talk."  
  
Ray noted the sweat, the flushed red cheeks. "Yeah, okay, sure. You need to cool off. It's pretty hot out, huh?"

Fraser simply nodded as he hung up his jacket and put his hat in the top of the hallway closet. "Diefenbaker is blowing his coat as well."  
  
"Tell me about it. We could make a blanket with all the fur he's putting out."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
And that was it. Fraser didn't look up, didn't meet his gaze, just walked down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door. Disheartened, Ray sat back down at the table and waited some more. He was so not good at waiting, but for Fraser he could try harder, he had to.

Ten minutes later, wet hair slicked back, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, Fraser stepped into the kitchen. Barefoot, he leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed. God, he looked damn gorgeous. "I love you, Ray."  
  
Ray choked up, eyes stinging. He hadn't expected that, not to start the conversation at least. Still, it relieved him no end to hear it. "Yeah, I know. I love you, too."  
  
Fraser moved from the counter and pulled out a chair, sitting next to Ray. He took Ray's left hand in his, their fingers laced together, his voice earnest. "I can't stop you from drinking. That's your choice."  
  
"Yeah, it is."  
  
"But I won't enable it, either."  
  
"Enable? What's that mean?"

"It means to facilitate, to make it easier for you."

"I know what enable means, Fraser, but what the hell does that have to do with us?"

"If you drink, I won't pretend that it doesn't matter to me or that it doesn't threaten our relationship."  
  
Still holding Fraser's hand, his throat suddenly dry, Ray shook his head, trying like hell to believe that those words didn't mean what he thought they meant. "Threaten our relationship? Are you saying you'd leave me over this?"  
  
"No, I told you before I'd never leave you, Ray, and I won't. If anyone leaves, it will have to be you. What I'm saying is, if you choose to drink, you'll have to do it without my approval."

Swallowing hard, trying to calm his crazy nerves, Ray closed his eyes. He whispered, "Okay, here's the thing. I can stop. I know I can, but I'm thinking if I do, then how will I ever know for sure?"  
  
"Know what for sure, Ray?"  
  
"If you're right."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Ray opened his eyes, pleased at hearing that phrase for a change. "So you get it, you know what I'm saying?"  
  
"I believe you're saying you believe you need to test yourself to see if I'm correct in thinking you're an alcoholic."  
  
"Right. I mean, here's the thing. I don't think you're right, even though I know you've got your reasons. You've seen me do some pretty dumb stuff, but that was when I was having a really hard time with, well, with you know."

"Ray "

"No, let me finish, let me explain. I don't want what you're thinking to be true, and right now, I don't think it is. I think you're overreacting, but that's not really like you, so I'm thinking, hey, you might have a point. But how will I know for sure if I don't find out for myself? I figure I can drink a few beers here and there and then quit, not go overboard and get wasted. I need to at least give it a shot."  
  
Fraser shook his head and squeezed Ray's hand gently. "Ray, it's not a good idea."

"What's the worst that can happen? I mean, I might mess up and prove you right. If that's the case, you win. I'm an alkie and I'll swear off, be a good little Ray and never drink again. If I can do it, handle the booze, then you can stop worrying about me needing to dry out."

"Ray, that's your decision."

"Okay, okay, good."

"Regardless of your choice, I'd like you to consider doing something important."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"I think you should start seeing Dr. Collier again."  
  
Ray pulled his hand away and stood up, his arms crossed and his mind racing. "What? You think I need to see a shrink again? I already did that. I went for almost four damn months, Fraser. It didn't fucking help."  
  
"That's not true, Ray. You did quite well for a while."

"Are you saying you think I'm not doing too good now?"

"I'm saying I think you might have ended your sessions prematurely."

"Prematurely? You think I quit too soon, like Im still nuts, like I'm just a few stops away from the funny farm?"

"I don't think you're unbalanced, Ray, but I do think you have some serious unresolved issues, issues that affect me as well as you."

Running a hand through his hair, Ray paced. He never thought Fraser would pull a stunt like that, try to guilt him into doing what he wanted. "Look, Fraser, I know you get off on therapy. It works for you and that's really great. That's just fine and dandy. You do your affirmations, and your journal, and your psycho exercises like a real pro, like you've been doing it all your life. Way to go, Fraser. But it doesn't work for everybody. I'm sorry, but I resent the hell out of people trying to dig around in my head."

"I know it's painful, Ray."

"It's not about painful or not painful, Fraser. It's about people minding their own fucking business, about staying out of my private life. I'm not good about spilling my guts, never have been, never will be. Besides, I'm better when I'm with you. I don't need Collier for that."

"What about the nightmares?"  
  
"What about 'em?"  
  
"They're worse than ever."

Ray shrugged, tried to play it off, like waking up in a cold sweat and screaming the house down didn't mean a thing. "So? They're just bad dreams, Fraser. Everybody has those."

"That might be true, but yours are quite disturbing and are increasing in frequency."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"I'm sleeping in the bed next to you, Ray. It'd be difficult to miss."

"Sorry about that."  
  
Fraser shook his head, ignoring the apology, and kept going. "You've also stopped doing your camerawork."  
  
"Who cares? They're just pictures. They don't mean anything."

"They mean something to me, Ray, and I think they mean something to you as well. The fact that you've chosen to stop expressing yourself through your art concerns me."

"I've been busy working my ass off, Fraser. I don't have time to play with a camera."

"What about your frequent headaches, obviously triggered by stress?"

"I'm a cop. Stress comes with the job. So, I get headaches. It's no big deal."

Fraser didn't give up, kept adding to the list to make his case. "Plus, you've become more tense, more irritable, and increasingly volatile over the last few weeks."

"Are you saying I'm a pain in the ass to live with, Fraser, because I'm here to tell you that you're no bed of roses yourself sometimes, you know?"  
  
"I understand why you're defensive, Ray, but I was concerned about your mental state even before this additional pressure of having to deal with Sean O'Malley and the possible threat he poses."

Ray studied Fraser's serious features. "You've been worried about me?"  
  
"For some time now, yes."  
  
Moving back to the table, Ray sat down again. He kept his voice low. "You didn't say anything."

"I must confess I was hoping it would pass."  
  
Sighing, Ray nodded, knowing Fraser wasn't lying. He'd been a real jerk for weeks now, taking out his frustrations on Fraser, pushing him, testing his partner's resolve to stick with him no matter what. "Okay, so you're tired of my shit, huh?"  
  
"Ray, I just" The words trailed off as Fraser avoided his gaze.  
  
"Just what?"  
  
It took a few extra seconds, but then Fraser spoke in a hush, his words choked. "I just fear that our life together isn't making you happy and that it's no longer what you really want."  
  
Shocked, Ray shook his head, not believing what the fuck he was hearing. "What? You think I don't want us to be together?"

"Sometimes, yes. Sometimes it seems like you hate me, hate what we have."  
  
Hand shaky, Ray reached out and lifted his partner's chin, forcing Fraser to look into his eyes. "I love you. I need you. I want what we have more than anything in this whole damn world, more than I want breathing. Don't ever, I mean ever, doubt that, okay?"  
  
"I dont want to doubt it, Ray, but sometimes it's difficult."  
  
"You can believe in justice, the Canadian way, and the inherited goodness of men even when they're scumbags, but you can't believe in us?"  
  
"I think you mean inherent, Ray."  
  
"You want me to sock you in the head?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then shut up and listen." Ray cupped Fraser's face, caressing his cheek as he leaned in very close. "You're it for me, Fraser, end of the line, all she wrote. You and me, we're the real deal. Maybe you need to add that to your daily affirmations thing. Repeat after me, Fraser and Ray belong together, are good together, will always be together through thick and thin."  
  
"Ray "

"Say it, Fraser. Say it like you mean it. Say it five times and then say it five more times and then as many times as it takes to get it through that thick skull of yours that it's true."  
  
Instead of obeying immediately, Fraser leaned in and kissed him gently, his tongue lazy and teasing. As he pulled back, he whispered, "Fraser and Ray belong together, are good together, will always be together through thick and thin."  
  
"Again."  
  
Like music, Fraser's voice chanting the words lulled him, made Ray all smooth and less tense, easy in his own skin. By the fifth go round, Ray dropped his forehead to Fraser's shoulder. "Okay, I'll go back to Collier, but don't expect me to like it."

Fraser patted the back of his head and kissed his cheek before whispering the next chorus of Fraser and Rays.

* * *

Fraser rubbed his forehead as he pondered the problem of whether or not the French should be seated next to or across from the German delegation. Somehow he found it difficult to get too enthused over the issue, especially since he strongly suspected it wouldn't adversely affect the success of the conference one way or the other. Serve enough champagne and the two groups often got on quite well, so well, that one pair of opposing delegates from the last conference would soon be christening their firstborn son, Jean-Claude Klaus. 

A knock at the door rescued him from another frustrating shuffle through the complex seating arrangements. Turnbull peeked around the edge of the door. "If I may, sir, I took the liberty of making some tea."  
  
Grateful for the reprieve from the work he found increasingly more tedious, Fraser motioned for the younger man to enter. "Thank you, Turnbull. That's very thoughtful."  
  
"My pleasure, sir." Turnbull walked into his office and put the tray on the edge of Fraser's desk. Without waiting for Fraser to ask, Turnbull poured him a cup and added cream, but no sugar. 

Fraser took it and sniffed with approval. "Excellent, Turnbull. Darjeeling, if I'm not mistaken."  
  
"Yes, sir. I noticed your preference earlier."  
  
Instead of leaving, Turnbull stood at attention by the desk while Fraser took a few sips. "Good job. It's brewed to perfection."  
  
Turnbull smiled, brightened by the compliment. "Thank you, sir. I like to pride myself in knowing how to properly brew all the popular varieties of teas. It's a lost art, really."  
  
"Yes, it is." When Turnbull still made no move to leave, Fraser prompted, "Is there something else?"  
  
"Well, sir, since you asked, I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate how you spoke with me so frankly about your own personal situation yesterday. Your candor actually influenced my final decision."  
  
"Which was?"  
  
"I decided I was indeed able to make such a commitment at this time and I moved in with Peter last night. He owns a house out in a lovely little subdivision just north of the city proper."  
  
Not surprised, Fraser smiled with restrained approval. "Congratulations. I hope you'll be happy. I also hope that your relocation from your former dwelling won't cause a problem in terms of transportation."  
  
"Thank you kindly, sir. As for transport, that won't be an issue. Peter drives me into town on his way to his own employment. When my shift is shorter, or in the event that we work different shifts, I can take public transport or use one of Peter's cars. He has several."

"That sounds very efficient."

"Oh, it is, sir and it's a lovely home, five bedrooms, a beautiful kitchen and dining room, and a fabulous private garden in the back." Turnbull's eyes got dreamy as he spread his hands. "In addition, he has this big screen TV with a satellite dish, too. Curling looks so different in high definition, sir. It's all quite impressive." 

Fraser grinned with amusement at Turnbull's enthusiasm. "Mr. Pulaski likes curling?"

"Sadly, no. I'm afraid Peter's as bad as Ray about not appreciating the nuances of the sport. He seems to think it a bit slow. However, we've achieved an understanding. I watch his basketball and he watches my curling. I've learned that his comments about the sport are all in good spirit."

Fraser finished his tea, and Turnbull still stayed. "If that's all"  
  
"Well, sir, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a favor."  
  
"Which would be?"  
  
"Peter and I would be honored if you and Ray would dine with us tonight. It's Peter's day off and he's mentioned several times that since he's heard so much about you two, he'd like to get to know you and Ray better." When Fraser hesitated, Turnbull held up a hand. "I know it's short notice. Please, you won't hurt my feelings if you decline."  
  
Fraser knew Turnbull well enough to recognize the lie. "It's not that I wouldn't be delighted to come, Turnbull, but I'm not sure what Ray has planned."  
  
"I understand completely."  
  
Fraser put his cup down. He and Ray had both met Peter Pulaski a few times, just briefly and in passing, but he seemed nice enough. To his surprise over the last few months, he'd discovered that in general he enjoyed Turnbull's company outside the workplace. With Turnbull, everything seemed simple, direct, and from the heart. As much as he loved Ray, sometimes he appreciated a rest from the intensity of their relationship. He tugged at his ear as he asked, "Would it be agreeable if I gave you an answer after lunch? I'm going to see Ray then."  
  
Turnbull's lips spread into a wide grin. "Oh, yes, that would be fine. If today doesnt work out, we'll find another time." Turnbull picked up the tray and stepped to the door. "Just let me know and I'll call Peter. He wanted to do a barbecue."

"I'll let you know."  
  
As soon as Turnbull left, Fraser's mood dipped. Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to the paperwork he'd come to dread with a serious passion.

"Since when did being a Mountie mean being a glorified caterer, Son?"  
  
Sighing deeply, Fraser didn't bother to look up at his father. "A positive result from this trade conference could mean additional millions for the Canadian economy, Dad."

"Still, it seems like your talents are wasted here."  
  
Annoyed at hearing his father echo his own thoughts, Fraser put his pen down. "You've been gone for months."

"I've been busy."  
  
"Busy?"

"Visiting old haunts, seeing old friends. Buck sends his regards, by the way."

Impatient, Fraser asked, "So what brings you back, Dad?"  
  
Instead of answering his question, his father deliberately paced around the perimeter of the room. He stopped and shook his head after he completed one circuit. "Don't you get claustrophobic sitting in here all day, Son? Good Lord, you might as well be living in a closet."

Fraser countered, "Your office is a closet, Dad. How is that different?"  
  
"Quite right, Son, but the only limits on its size are within my own imagination. This place, well, it's just depressing."

"I like to think of it as intimate."

His father fisted both hands and raised them upward to emphasize his point. "Don't you miss the wide open spaces, the wind in your face, the rush of the blood through your veins when you bring in some scoundrel?"  
  
Fraser did yearn for those things, but he'd be damned if he'd admit it to his father. "What's your point? This is my posting." He motioned to the papers on his desk and snapped, "This is my **job**. Following orders, that's part of being a Mountie, too. Isn't that what you taught me, service first? I'm sorry you dont find it as invigorating or as exciting as your life, but then, I'm not you, am I?"

"No, Son, you're not and I didn't mean to suggest that you should be." Fraser Senior took a deep, calming breath. "I didn't come here to fight."  
  
"Then why are you here?"  
  
"It's about the Yank."  
  
Fraser froze, his irritation drained away. "Ray? What about him?"  
  
His father put a finger to his right temple and closed his eyes momentarily. Then he spoke quietly, eerily, not like his father at all. "I can't see the future, not exactly. However, on occasion, if one looks carefully enough, one can get glimpses."  
  
Fraser stood up and moved next to the ghost of his father. Parent or not, sometimes he wished he could just reach out and shake the man, make him say things straight out. "What is it? What did you see that concerns Ray?"  
  
His father shook his head, his face pale and grim. "I fear for his safety, Son, and for yours as well."  
  
"What? What kind of danger is he in?"  
  
"I don't know. I can't see the details."  
  
"Dad"  
  
Sharply, Fraser Senior interrupted. "Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew, Benton? All I can tell you is that you need to watch over him more closely. Frankly, if I were you, I'd take him north, the sooner the better. Chicago is no place for you to live anyway, Son. You dont belong here and neither does he. Up north he might stand a chance."  
  
Fear mingled with both anger and frustration. "A chance? For god's sake, stop giving me spiritual mumbo jumbo and tell me what that means."

"I just know I've got this feeling of dread I can't explain. The only other time I've felt like this was when he was in dire straits before, that time when he nearly joined me here on the other side. You remember?"  
  
"I remember." Fraser swallowed hard, his voice strained as he flashed on an image of his damaged partner lying broken and bloody after his last minute rescue a few months before. "Are you saying he's in mortal danger again now?"  
  
"I'm saying all I can say. The rest is up to you."  
  
"Do you have any idea how soon?"  
  
"How soon what, Son?"  
  
"Is he in danger now or will it be soon?"  
  
"There are no clocks in the afterlife, Son. Everything moves at its own pace. A day, a month, it's all the same from here."

"So you're saying you have no idea if what you're feeling relates to today or next year?"  
  
"Oh, I'd say sooner than a year, more than a day. Just keep an eye out is all I can say."  
  
Chilled by the whole conversation, Fraser nodded and he reached for his hat. "Thanks, Dad. I need to go see Ray."  
  
His father tapped the stack of papers on his desk. "What about these, Son? You've still have to decide about the overflow parking or some such thing."  
  
"To hell with that."  
  
"Language, Son." 

But Fraser saw a hint of a smile on his father's face as he said it.

* * *

Ray glanced at the clock and cursed. Not even halfway through the shift and he still had a ton of files to sort and check. He'd handed off all his open cases, explained his notes, and made a list of hunches for the detectives who were doing what he should've been doing, out pounding the pavement. He hated sitting there, watching everyone else come and go, heading out, doing the job while he stayed stuck behind a desk. Paperwork with no street work always made him uptight, made him want to punch out a wall or stomp a few heads. Thank god Turner came through with getting the air conditioning fixed or no telling how fired up he might get.

Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, he took off his glasses with the other. He might run around half blind chasing scumbags, but doing forms meant he had to see the fine print and fill in the right line. No way did he want to end up getting blamed for some stupid ass error that let a guy walk just because he couldn't see all that good. He cleaned off the lenses with the bottom edge of his grey T-shirt and put them back on just in time to see Frannie walking his way.

"Hey, Ray."  
  
The way too happy tone made him suspicious as hell. "Hey, Frannie. What's up?"  
  
She fanned the top outer edge of his spiky hair with an open hand as she teased. "Your hair for one."  
  
"Funny girl." Ray used his no nonsense tone and snapped, "Now, what do you want?"  
  
Shaking her head, Frannie sat on the edge of his desk and crossed her shapely legs. "God, you're surly."  
  
"Surly? You been reading the word-a-day calendar again or what?"  
  
"Smartie pants. You can learn a lot of interesting words with that thing."  
  
For the first time that morning, Ray grinned. "I don't need a calendar. I've got Fraser."

"Rub it in, why don't ya?"  
  
Ray's grin faded, his voice a little lower. "I'm not doing that, Frannie. You know I wouldn't do that."  
  
She shook her head and slapped him playfully on the arm.. "Forget about it. I'm just kidding."

Relieved, Ray relaxed a little and sat back, but stayed on guard. "So, what did you really want?"  
  
"Want? What makes you think I want anything?"  
  
"Experience, instinct, every fiber of my being."  
  
"Okay, okay, you've got me."  
  
"So spill before I get too old to hear ya."  
  
"Jeez. Hold your ponies." 

Ray groaned and shook his head in frustration as he corrected. "Horses. Horses. It's horses, Frannie, not ponies."  
  
"Ponies, horses, wild stallions. Who cares? Stop being so picky and listen."  
  
Ray sat back, his hands folded in his lap, trying his damn best to be patient. "Okay, shoot."  
  
Frannie scooted in a little closer and leaned in, keeping her voice down. "I've got this thing I need to go to."  
  
"Thing?"  
  
"Yeah, this thing, this dance."  
  
"Dance?"  
  
"You going to keep interrupting or let me finish?"  
  
Ray put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry."  
  
"Anyway, here's the thing. I was thinking that maybe, if he's not doing anything, I might ask Turnbull."  
  
Stunned, Ray's mouth dropped open. "Turnbull as in Fraser's Turnbull?"

"Yeah, I mean, he's not bad looking and he's nice. I thought maybe if he wasn't doing anything Friday night, you could sort of ask him if he might be interested in taking me."  
  
"Me? Ask Turnbull to take you to a dance?"  
  
Frannie frowned and pulled back a little. "What? You think he'll say no?"  
  
Ray didn't want to say it, but didn't have much choice. "Look, Frannie, Turnbull's a great guy, but "

"But what?"  
  
"He's seeing somebody."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Since about six months ago."  
  
"Damn."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Frannie held up a hand at the apology and shook her head, obviously disappointed. "He's always so nice. I thought, well, never mind what I thought." She slapped his arm again, this time a lot harder. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I didn't know you were interested."  
  
"Doesn't matter if I am, does it? I mean, what's wrong with me anyway, always going for the guys who are already taken?"  
  
"The red suit, maybe?"  
  
She stood up, not amused. "Shut up, Ray."  
  
Ray got up, shoved a hand down into his pocket, and pulled out a dollar to wave like a white flag. "Come on. I'll buy you a Coke. No hard feelings."  
  
Shaking her head, she snatched the buck and then walked away, grumbling. "Surly, sarcastic, pain in the ass"  
  
Ray shrugged and sat back down, pretty sure that the pain in the ass part wasn't on Frannie's calendar, but not stupid enough to say that out loud. As he settled in his chair, he turned his attention back to his file only to see a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. He smiled and closed the folder. His partner walked up to his desk holding his hat in his hands, sweating like gangbusters. "Fraser."  
  
"Ray."

"What are you doing here? The Consulate burn down?"  
  
"Don't even joke about that, Ray." 

Ray didn't say sorry but just motioned to a chair. He had a pretty good idea why Fraser had trekked all the way over to see him, but he wanted him to admit it. Fraser settled in beside him. "You walked all the way here in this heat?"

"I walk here all the time, Ray."

"It's ninety degrees out, Fraser, and you're wearing more wool than Lambchop."  
  
"Lambchop?"  
  
"Lambchop, Lambchop, you know, the sheep."  
  
"Ah, well, it is the uniform."  
  
"But you've got the brown one. It's cooler."  
  
"It's not a hardship."  
  
Ray shook his head in frustration, knowing it didn't do a bit of good to argue. "So where's Dief?"

"Well, as you can imagine, an arctic wolf isn't really well-suited to these kinds of conditions. I thought it best he stay at the Consulate while I came to ask you to go out for lunch."

"You're saying it's too hot for the wolf, but not for you, huh?"  
  
"I'm fine, Ray. The heat doesn't bother me that much."  
  
Ray pointed at the sweat still trailing down the side of Fraser's face. "That why you're fresh as a daisy there, Frase?"  
  
Wiping off the sweat with the back of his hand, Fraser shrugged. "As long as I remain hydrated, a little perspiration isn't harmful."  
  
"Makes for a hell of a dry cleaning bill though."  
  
"That it does. So, Ray, do you have time to go to lunch?"  
  
Ray tilted his head, eyeing his partner and pursing his lips. "Thought you were too busy this week."  
  
"Actually, we're a little ahead of schedule on the arrangements."

"So, you coming over here instead of calling has nothing to do with you not wanting me out on my own?"  
  
Fraser met his gaze, his blue eyes even darker than usual. "I won't deny that my concern for your welfare didn't play a part in my decision."  
  
"Thought so."

"I won't apologize for it, Ray."

Ray shook his head and smirked. "Didn't ask you to. Just wanted you to say it out loud."  
  
Fraser nodded in understanding. "Is there any place you'd like to go?"  
  
"Home would be nice, but since that's out of the question, let's go to that Chinese place a few blocks down the street, The Golden Palace."  
  
"Excellent choice, Ray."  
  
Ray stacked the files on the corner of the desk and stood up, grateful for the break. He slipped his glasses off and put one earpiece down the neck of his T-shirt. "I've got paperwork out the ass here. It's the bay of my existence."

As they walked down the hall side-by-side, Fraser cleared his throat. "Ray, do you by any chance mean it's the bane of your existence?"  
  
"I'm drowning in paper here, Fraser. How is that bane? I mean, what's a bane anyway? You're making that up. What the hell does that mean, bane?"

"Blight, curse, bother, something that causes extreme annoyance." Fraser opened the door and paused to allow Ray to walk through first.  
  
"Bane, huh, not bay? You sure?"  
  
"I'm sure, Ray."  
  
"I never knew that."  
  
"Well, I can see how you might be confused."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
"Bane, bay, they do sound alike."  
  
Ray stuck a finger in his right ear and twisted. "Damn, I need to get these cleaned out."

Fraser didn't say anything else as they made their way through the parking lot to the car. Ray might not know the word bane from Adam, but he knew a bodyguard lookout when he saw one. "Lighten up, Fraser. Nobody's going to take a potshot at a cop house."

Fraser smiled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Of course not, Ray. Let's take your car."  
  
"It's only two blocks. The a/c won't even kick in by the time we get there."  
  
"It allows for more coverage."  
  
Ray stopped walking and turned. "Look, I'm all for playing it safe. I just don't think we have to go overboard." He paused, studied Fraser's serious features, and stepped closer. "Okay, what is it? What do you know that I don't know?"  
  
Fraser took Ray's arm and guided him to the car. "Get in and we'll talk."  
  
Shit. Nerves geared up, Ray unlocked the passenger's door and then went around to his own side. Once inside, he turned on the engine and put the a/c on high. "What's going on?"  
  
Sitting there, Fraser licked his lower lip several times before he finally spoke. "You're going to think I'm unhinged."  
  
"More than usual?"  
  
"Probably, yes."  
  
"Not real likely. I think you're pretty unhinged as it is."  
  
"I'm serious, Ray."  
  
"I can see that." Waiting, Ray watched as Fraser struggled to find the right words. Finally, Ray nudged him. "Come on. What's wrong?"

"My father."  
  
"Your dead father?"  
  
"The same one, yes."

"He hasn't been around since Christmas. I thought he'd moved on."  
  
"Apparently not."

Ray sat back, not really wanting to hear it, but knowing there was no way to avoid it. "Okay, spill. What'd he say? Must have been a doozie to get you this worked up."

"He wanted to warn me that you were in danger."  
  
"Well, hell, Fraser, we already knew that."  
  
"You don't understand."  
  
Ray rubbed his face with both hands trying to calm down before he asked, "What is it I don't get, Fraser? You think I don't know I've probably got a bull's eye on my back? You think I don't know that?"  
  
"I don't think he was talking about the threat from O'Malley or at least, not just the threat of O'Malley. I think there might be something else."  
  
"But he didn't say what?"  
  
"No."  
  
Ray banged the heel of his right hand against the steering wheel several times in frustration. "How the hell are we supposed to deal with something if we don't know what the fuck it is?"  
  
Fraser grabbed Ray's hand before he hammered the wheel again. "Ray, stop before you hurt yourself."  
  
Ray jerked his hand away, not quite finished with being pissed off at the spirit world. He wrapped his arms around himself and complained. "You know, I like your old man, you know that. I mean for a ghost, he's not so bad, but I swear to god, if he doesn't know the whole picture, he should keep his big mouth shut."  
  
"He was only trying to help, Ray. He suggested that perhaps we should go to Canada sooner than we planned."  
  
Ray frowned, a little calmer. "Yeah? He said that?"  
  
"Yes, and, frankly, given the circumstances, I tend to agree."  
  
Biting his lower lip, Ray nodded. "You know, that's not a bad idea. We go north and O'Malley's got no reason to think I give a shit about what he's up to. Might take the heat off."  
  
"It might."  
  
The cool tone didn't fool Ray. "But you don't think so."  
  
"I think there's something wrong with an investigation of this magnitude that hasn't resulted in an arrest yet."  
  
"You saying you think there's something hinky going on with the Feds?"  
  
"I've got no hard evidence to support such a theory."

"But you've got a hunch, a gut feeling, something that tells you that something's off on this whole deal?"

"Possibly, and if there is federal corruption involved, that's all the more reason to leave the country while others investigate."  
  
Ray frowned, wondering if he missed something. "Others? What others? Who are we talking about?"  
  
"I took it upon myself to talk to Captain Turner."  
  
Ray interrupted, holding up a finger. "Wait a minute, hold up. You talked to Turner behind my back?"  
  
"It wasn't behind your back, Ray. That's why I'm telling you now. He said he had concerns as well and agreed to look into the matter."  
  
"You mean like internal affairs or something like that?"  
  
"He didn't say exactly. He did, however, assure me that it would be investigated."  
  
Ray shook his head hard a couple of times to clear it. He rubbed his eyes and then asked, "So what do we do now?"  
  
Fraser's hand rested on Ray's shoulder. "Now we go have lunch."  
  
Still a bit dazed, not quite sure what to believe, he nodded. "Okay, but if your dad shows up, ghost or no ghost, I'm going to tell him where to get off with his half-baked warnings."  
  
"Believe me, Ray, it won't make any difference."

"No, huh?"

"You've met him. What do you think?"

"I think I'm glad he's on our side."

* * *

Ray pushed the rice around on his plate and then took a drink of his iced tea. He glanced up to see Fraser staring at him. "Quit it."  
  
"Quit what, Ray?"  
  
"Gawkin'. I'm okay."  
  
Fraser nodded, but didn't stop staring. He did, however, ask a question. "So, do you think you'd like to say yes to Turnbull's invitation?  
  
"Renny really moved in with this Pulaski guy?"  
  
"Yes, and he seems quite pleased with the decision."  
  
"It's early yet. Give it time." Fraser tilted his head as he studied him even harder. "What?"

"Why are you so cynical about Turnbull's relationship with Mr. Pulaski?"

"I'm not cynical, just realistic."  
  
"Why is it realistic to think it won't endure?"  
  
"Think about it."  
  
"I have and I still fail to see your point. Turnbull seems quite happy with his life with Mr. Pulaski."  
  
Ray sighed, grabbed a toothpick, and then sat back. "Look, it's just weird that they've been together for what, six months, and this is the first time we're really meeting the guy. From what Renny says, this Pulaski is all about sports, cars, and his job. Nothing he says makes me think they have much in common."  
  
"One could say that about a lot of couples, Ray."  
  
Ray didn't miss the point. "Are we talking about Turnbull and Pulaski or us?"  
  
Fraser played with the edge of the napkin, not meeting Ray's gaze. "If one were to look at our lives objectively, Ray, one might say we have little in common as well. We do, in fact, have very different backgrounds and interests."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So we still seem to find common ground."  
  
Ray snorted and leaned in, his voice a little more hushed and edgy. "I'd say a little more than just common ground, Fraser. You and me, we click. We, whatdoyacallit when we fit together like we do, instinct and logic, you set 'em up, I knock 'em down?"  
  
"We complement one another?"

"Yeah, that's it, complement. What you don't get, I get and vice versa. We just mesh, you know?"  
  
"Yes, Ray, I do. I don't see why the same thing can't be true for Turnbull and his partner."  
  
"I'm not saying it's not. It's just something seems off to me. Call it a hunch."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
Shrugging, Ray sat back again. "It's just I see Turnbull and I'm thinking, what kind of guy would go for a guy like him? I don't see the kind of guy Pulaski seems to be fitting with Turnbull, that's all. Turnbull's just too, too, you know, Turnbull."  
  
Frowning, Fraser shook his head, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, Ray."

"Oh, come on, Fraser. Turnbull's not exactly butch, you know? He's like a big kid, a sweet big kid, but still a kid. Not to be mean, but he's not the brightest guy in Club Mountie. From everything we've heard, Pulaski's sharp and on the ball. So, I just have to ask myself, what's he want with Renny?"

"Perhaps he sees things about Turnbull that we don't."  
  
"Yeah, maybe, like he's a dopey blonde with muscles to spare, somebody he can push around and take advantage of."

Fraser sat up more stiffly as he straightened the chopsticks on his plate. "That's a very skeptical attitude, Ray, and to some degree rather insulting. We don't even know Peter Pulaski."

"That's my point. Why don't we know him? How many other friends does Renny have?" Ray held up two fingers and made a big show of counting them off. "Me and you, that's it. How come it's taken him this long to check us out? I mean, if I was hooking up with somebody, especially a nae guy like Renny, I'd make it a point to find out all I could about his friends, his buddies. The fact that he hasn't, well, that just says a lot to me, that's all."

"So you're saying because he's made no overtures to us, Peter Pulaski isn't suitable for a relationship with Turnbull?"  
  
"I'm just saying it's weird."  
  
"To be fair, we've made no attempts to meet him, either. Perhaps he's just respecting our privacy."  
  
"Yeah, maybe."

"Whatever the case, I suggest we actually meet and get acquainted with the man before we pass judgment on his suitability for Constable Turnbull."  
  
"Sure, okay. I get that. You know me, suspicious as hell. Goes with being a cop." Ray picked up his iced tea and finished it off. "So, they live right outside the city?"  
  
"Yes. Apparently, Mr. Pulaski owns a house."  
  
"A house, huh?"  
  
"Yes." Ray shook his head, but didn't say anything. Fraser prompted. "What?"

"I was just thinking, what happens when Renny gets transferred back to Canada? You think this Pulaski's going to sell his house and go along?"  
  
"I have no idea, Ray. However, I doubt Turnbull will be transferring back to Canada anytime soon."  
  
"But you don't know that, not for sure. I'm just thinking, it's harder to pull up stakes when you've got roots like owning a house. I just hope whatever happens, Renny doesn't get his heart busted. He's a good guy." Fraser smiled for the first time during the meal. "What's the goofy grin for?"  
  
"I'm always surprised by how romantic you are, Ray."  
  
"Romantic? Me? About Turnbull's love life? You're nuts. I'm not romantic. I just don't like to see my friends get hurt, that's all."  
  
"Turnbull can take care of his own affairs, Ray. In all honesty, he seems quite content at the moment. I don't think you need to worry on his behalf."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"I think you are."  
  
"Freak."  
  
"Perhaps." Fraser still smiled as he finished off his own tea. He glanced at the clock and then grew more serious. "I suppose we need to get back to work."  
  
Reluctantly, Ray agreed. "I guess. Look, why don't I pick you up right after the shift is over? We'll go home, change, and then we'll head out. Make sure to get good directions and a number to call if we get lost."  
  
Fraser nodded, but made no attempt to get up. "Ray?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"About last night"  
  
Ray closed his eyes briefly, wishing that Fraser would just drop it. "Look, it was just a bad dream. I had a rotten day yesterday."  
  
"We both did, but you have to concede that the dreams are getting worse. I was just wondering if perhaps you had a chance to call Dr. Collier this morning."  
  
"No, but I told you I'd call her. Just give me some time, okay? There's no rush." Before Fraser interrupted with some pain in the ass argument, Ray added, "Besides, if we go to Canada early, I can just wait until we get back."  
  
"I'd prefer you see her before we leave, Ray."  
  
Ray got up, determined to keep his temper in check. His face burned as his heart hammered away, begging for a workout. Damn stubborn Mountie got on his last nerve sometimes. He grabbed up the check and dug for his wallet. "Look, I get that. You don't have to keep harping on it. I'll do it."  
  
Fraser slid out of the booth, his hat in his hand, his voice soft and controlled. "I'm not harping, Ray. I'm concerned."  
  
"Sounds the same."  
  
Before Ray turned, Fraser grabbed his right wrist. "Ray, don't be angry."  
  
Lifting his face, Ray met his lover's deep blue eyes, the sudden anger easing away with Fraser's calming touch. "I'm not. I just pop off sometimes. I know you're worried." Ray paused, took a deep breath and then added, "I'll call her this afternoon. I'll see if she can work me in sometime this week." 

Fraser squeezed gently and then released his arm. "Thank you, Ray."

As they walked to the checkout, Ray pushed away his dread of seeing a shrink and focused on a bigger worry. "When you said you wanted to leave earlier, how early are we talking? Next week? Two weeks? What?"  
  
"Inspector Thatcher will be back Monday. I'm going to discuss my leave then. She'll want me to help with the conference, but my attendance isn't strictly necessary."  
  
"So you're thinking the end of next week then?"  
  
"If possible, yes."  
  
Ray handed over the money and the check, frowning. "You really think we need to get out of town that quick?"  
  
"I think the sooner we leave, the less danger you'll be in, yes."

Holding out his hand, Ray took his change and the receipt. He slipped them in his billfold, put it in his pocket, and let Fraser open the door for him. As they walked out, he kept alert, automatically checking out the street and the people passing them by as they headed for the parking lot. As he unlocked the GTO, he spotted a navy 2002 Chevy Lumina parked across the street, the same one that had followed them there. Inside his car, he adjusted the mirror. "We've got a tail."  
  
"Yes, I know."  
  
"You know?"  
  
"Yes, I noticed when we went in."  
  
"And you didn't say anything?"  
  
"I thought you'd seen it."  
  
Ray pursed his lips and bit back a curse. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Next time just mention it. That's what partners do, Fraser, mention it, just in case, okay?"  
  
"Understood."  
  
"You think it's the Feds?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
"It would seem to be the car of choice for most federal details and Captain Turner did mention you would be under constant surveillance outside the station for the time being."  
  
Ray's head jerked sideways, his irritation returning. He hated being out of the loop, and since when did Turner tell Fraser important stuff and not him? He snapped, "He could've told me."  
  
"I suppose he likely figured you'd notice on your own or I'd tell you."  
  
"That's not the point. Why tell you and not me?"  
  
"You'd have to ask Captain Turner."  
  
"And I will, too. You better believe it." Ray started the engine, cranked up the a/c, and took a deep breath. No reason to be pissed at Fraser for something he didn't really do. "Look, I'll tell Welsh about taking vacation time. I'll have to fill out some forms, but I've got plenty of comp time built up. Just get me a date."  
  
"Would you like me to make the arrangement for tickets?"  
  
"Sure, but maybe we better decide where we're going first." When Fraser didn't speak right away, Ray turned in his seat. "What?"  
  
"Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that tonight."  
  
"Why not now?"  
  
"I'd rather do it tonight."  
  
When Fraser refused to look in his direction, Ray took another deep breath and reached over to squeeze Fraser's shoulder. He knew sometimes Fraser got upset about going home, about digging up old memories. "You want to go to your dad's cabin, start finishing it up? It's not a problem."

To Ray's surprise, Fraser shook his head and then met his gaze. "Actually, I want to go back to Yellowknife."  
  
"Yeah? I mean, that's cool if that's what you really want, but I'm good for the building thing. I can use an ax pretty good now that the arm's healed up."  
  
Fraser smiled, but shook his head. "No, not this trip, Ray. Perhaps some other time." 

Fraser hesitated, then licked his lower lip. Ray's neck prickled. "What is it, Fraser? What aren't you telling me?"  
  
Nervously, Fraser swallowed hard to keep his voice steady. "I wanted to tell you this tonight, Ray, not right now when we can't really talk about it in detail."  
  
"Talk about what?"  
  
"I might have done something rather rash."  
  
Frowning, his senses all tingly, Ray shook his head. "Rash? You, Fraser? That's like saying you broke into a bank or something and kept all the money. Never going to happen. You're not exactly the rash type."

Fraser took offense. "I can be impulsive sometimes, Ray."  
  
"Well, yeah, if you count jumping out windows and driving into lakes, but I mean in general you're not the kind of guy who does anything without thinking it through."

Conceding that fact, Fraser nodded and then rubbed his right eyebrow. "That's very true. I suppose that's why this seems so out of character."  
  
Aggravated, Ray squeezed Fraser's shoulder a little harder, bracing himself for the confession. "What the fuck did you do, Fraser?"  
  
"I bought a cabin."  
  
The words just sort of echoed in his head. "Bought a cabin as in bought a cabin?"  
  
"Yes, Ray, as in bought a cabin."  
  
Ray shook his head, not really taking it in. "What cabin are we talking about?"  
  
"Alan McClain is being transferred to Ottawa. He wrote me and offered to sell his cabin and his land in Yellowknife at a very reasonable price."  
  
Holding up a hand, Ray stilled any more words. "Wait a minute. Wait just a damn minute. Are you telling me you bought this place on your own without telling me?"  
  
"Not on my own exactly, Ray. I bought it for us."  
  
"Us?"  
  
"Yes, us."  
  
"But you used your own money."  
  
"Well, yes, but "

"No buts here, Fraser. You didn't tell me."  
  
"I'm telling you now."  
  
Ray studied his partner's grim features, his mind reeling from the fact that Fraser could do something so really big time behind his back. "Thats beside the point. You're a Mountie. Mounties aren't supposed to be sneaky like that. Not to mention, you should've told me first."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry. It's just Alan needed an answer right away."  
  
"Don't do that. Don't pretend that's the reason. We both know it's not. What's the real reason?"  
  
"I wanted to surprise you."  
  
"Surprise me?"  
  
"Yes." Fraser took Ray's hand from his shoulder and drew it down to his lap, not releasing it as he spoke softly. "It's our refuge. I didn't want to risk losing it."

"Refuge? Like a retreat, you mean?"  
  
"Something like that." Fraser met his eyes, his voice even more earnest. "Christmas was quite magical, Ray. Of course, it doesn't really matter where we go as long as we're together, but when the opportunity arose to return, I didn't want to miss it."

Considering the words carefully, Ray sighed and then nodded. "Okay, I get that. The cabin was a great place and a great time, even if I did almost freeze my ass off, no argument from me. But you still should've asked me. I would've pitched in."  
  
"Pitched in?"  
  
"Yeah, you know, put up half the money."  
  
Fraser pulled back slightly and studied him. "You're not angry that I bought it?"  
  
"No, but it's not buddies to buy property on the sly like that. You need to be up front. We're either partners all the way or we're not."  
  
Relaxing, Fraser nodded. "All the way, then. It won't happen again."  
  
"You'll let me pay half?"  
  
"If you wish."  
  
"So, how much is it and what's the payment plan?"  
  
"I paid cash."  
  
"Cash as in real cash money, all of it at one go?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"No payment plan?"  
  
"I think something can be arranged to cover your half, Ray."  
  
Smirking, Ray pulled out of his parking space and headed to the street. "You think so, huh? Is this where you tell me you'll take my half out in trade?"

Fraser kept up the innocent Mountie routine for a mere heartbeat. "Trade, Ray?"  
  
Ray laughed out loud as Fraser slipped his left hand between Ray's legs to show that he wasn't nearly as naïve as he pretended.

* * *

Ray snapped and snarled his way through most of the afternoon. Paperwork made him crazy and being chained to a desk was like sitting buck-naked on an anthill. He almost popped Dewey in his smart mouth a few times, too, but Frannie dragged him off to the break room to cool off. 

About half an hour before quitting time, Huey pulled a spitting-mad Dewey out the door right before Ray knocked his block off. A few seconds later, Welsh stepped to Ray's desk, one hand on his hip. "In my office."  
  
"But, Lieu, I "  
  
"My office, Detective. **Now**."  
  
Ray sagged, his head down. He didn't need Welsh chewing his ass, not now, not when his mouth had more control than he did. He got up slowly and followed orders, standing anxiously by Welsh's desk until his lieutenant settled in his chair. Hands tucked tightly up under his armpits, Ray waited, not saying a word, not daring to say anything for fear of what might spill out.

Welsh watched him, his dark eyes unrelenting. "I'm not even going to ask what that last spat was about, because, frankly, I don't even think you know." Ray's mouth opened in protest, but then closed again since his boss didn't look like he wanted any lip. Welsh leaned forward, his hands fisted together. "I know you're under a lot of pressure here, Ray. I do. However, if this is going to work, you've got to stop picking fights with Dewey."  
  
"I'm not doing that, sir. Besides, he started it."  
  
Welsh ignored the childish whine. "And stop making Ms. Vecchio crazy."  
  
"That's not my fault, sir."  
  
"And stop making all the other detectives in the station walk around on eggshells." Before Ray could argue about that one, Welsh held up a finger. "And stop scaring the perps and messing with their civil liberties. Not to mention, stop making my life more difficult than it has to be by just being an all around royal pain in the ass."

Ray pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and bit back a ton of swear words. He didn't mean to be that way, he really didn't. He hated being all twitchy and out of hand, flying off the handle at stupid shit. "I'm sorry, sir."  
  
"I know that, but you're going to try harder. I've got a station to run and I can't do that when you're acting like you've got a personal grudge match with the world in general and Dewey in particular. I have a repeat of today's behavior, you're on leave. Do we understand one another?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Welsh sat back, but didn't dismiss him. "I got a call from Captain Turner. Seems the Feds have decided to keep an eye on you for now."  
  
"You knew about the surveillance?"  
  
"Not until this afternoon."  
  
Ray paced a couple of times, the anger knotting his belly. "I put a call in, but Captain Turner hasn't called me back."  
  
"I know. Right now he's got his hands full."  
  
Ray stopped moving, his Lieutenant's tone setting off all kinds of cop alarms. "What's going on, Lieutenant? What aren't you telling me about this?"  
  
Welsh shook his head. "I can't give you the details, but let's just say that Captain Turner is taking on some pretty big guns to watch your back in all this."  
  
"He's asking questions about the O'Malley investigation and people in high places aren't happy."  
  
"You didn't hear that from me, but your powers of deduction have always been impressive, Detective."

"Shit."

"My advice, try to keep yourself together and be careful. You don't need a suspension on top of everything else."

Ray rubbed his chin, letting all the implications sink in. "No, no, I don't."  
  
"So tonight, you're going to work on your interpersonal skills. Perhaps Constable Fraser might give you some lessons. Though one would think you'd have picked up a few pointers by now."  
  
Ray snorted at the humor. "What can I say? I'm a slow learner."  
  
Suddenly more serious, Welsh took a deep breath. "You do realize with the Feds watching you, they're going to figure out that the Constable doesn't live at the Consulate, right?"  
  
"I know."  
  
"Just thought I'd mention it."  
  
"They can figure out whatever the hell they want, Lieutenant. If they don't like it, let 'em pull Vecchio from whatever sinkhole they've got him in and let me get my life back."  
  
"I don't see that happening. I just wanted to point out that they might try to pressure you to change the situation."  
  
"They can put the screws in all they want, but it won't make a difference. They don't like me bunking in with Fraser, they can lump it." 

Welsh nodded and then looked at the clock. "Why don't you punch out early and head home? It's been a long day."  
  
Ray didn't budge, needing to address unfinished business. "Sir, you know how I was saying before about Fraser and me going to Canada this summer?"  
  
"Yeah, I remember."  
  
"Well, he's thinking that with all this stuff going on with O'Malley and the Feds, it might be a good idea for us to take off sooner than later."  
  
"How soon?"  
  
Arms crossed, Ray cracked his neck sideways. "He's saying the end of next week."  
  
"What about the trade conference he's been working on? Doesn't that start next weekend?"  
  
"He's planning on ditching it."

"Fraser missing an important conference? Isn't that against the Mountie rule book or something?"

"Yeah, I know, but he's like pretty determined. You know how he gets, more stubborn than me even. Anyway, he's bought us some land up in Yellowknife."  
  
Welsh sat back, his eyes never leaving Ray. "Bought some land, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. It's the same place we stayed during Christmas when I was all busted up."  
  
"The same place where you took all those pictures you were passing around?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Nice place."  
  
Ray relaxed a little, smiling as he flashed on pleasant images of the time he'd spent in the cabin with Fraser. "Yeah, it is. Anyway, Fraser thought it'd be a good investment to buy it when it came up for sale."  
  
"Real estate's always a good investment."

"Even in Canada, yes, sir."  
  
Welsh laughed. "Yeah, Canada. It's a big place. Bet the land goes cheaper up there, huh?"  
  
Ray scratched his head, realizing he had no clue about the cost of wilderness property. "I don't know. He hasn't told me how much he paid yet, but I told him I'd pay half, you know, equal shares like real partners."  
  
Clearing his throat, Welsh nodded, his expression softer somehow. "That's good, Ray. You and Fraser make a good team. I think leaving for a while is a good idea, too. You take all the time you need. Just give me the dates and I'll fill out the paperwork and sign off."  
  
"Thanks, sir. I appreciate it."  
  
Welsh waved a dismissive hand. "Now, go, get out of here. I've still got a ton of files to get through."  
  
Just as Ray reached the door, he heard Welsh's warning. "And watch your back, Ray. The Feds aren't there so much for your protection as to catch O'Malley if he strikes."  
  
Ray already knew that, but nodded, grateful for the confirmation. "Yeah, I figured."

* * *

"So, Fraser, how long have you and Alan been writing letters back and forth?" Ray tossed off the question all cool and casual, like he really didn't give a shit. Ray sat on the edge of their bed watching Fraser change out of his uniform, his body tense as he waited. He knew McClain had a huge crush on Fraser and it bothered him more than he wanted to admit that Fraser hadn't told him about keeping in touch with the guy. Despite that, he sure as hell didn't want Fraser to know his head still took an ugly green spin whenever McClain's name came up.  
  
Fraser stopped undressing as he studied Ray with that look, that look that meant he knew exactly what stupid shit went on inside Ray's wacky head. "Surely you're not still jealous of Alan, Ray."  
  
"Im not jealous." Ray leaned forward and took off his boots, playing it off, not ready to give an inch or admit that Fraser knew him too well sometimes. "It just seems weird that you didn't mention it, that's all."  
  
"I didn't mention it, because there was nothing to mention."

Propping himself back against the headboard, his hands behind his head and his legs stretched out and crossed on the bed, Ray couldn't stop himself. He let out a long breath before he put all the words together so it didnt come out like an accusation. "Fraser, you tell me how many times you've had tea during the day, but you don't mention you're keeping up a connection with a guy you know has a thing for you. That's not nothing."  
  
"A thing?"  
  
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about here. He's got a thing, an attraction, a real I wish like hell I could sleep with him thing for you and you know it."  
  
"Ray "  
  
"I'm just wondering why you'd keep writing a guy like that."  
  
Fraser sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the bed, turning his body toward Ray. He put a hand on Ray's leg and shook his head. "Alan is happily married. Whatever **thing** you think he has is totally unrequited and isn't a factor when it comes to our correspondence."

"I know that, I do. It's just not like you not to tell me. That just makes me think there's a reason."  
  
Fraser squeezed his leg, his voice softer. "I love you, Ray, and, you're right, I should've told you."

Relaxing a little at the admission, Ray nodded and lowered his hands to his lap. "So why keep it a secret, all hush-hush like it means more than just two friends writing back and forth, I'm fine, how ya doing?"

"I didn't tell you because, quite frankly, I knew it would upset you."  
  
"You thought it would upset me?"  
  
"And your reaction now would seem to justify that concern."  
  
Ray worked like crazy to keep his temper in check. He hated when Fraser pulled that shit, tried to keep things from him so he didn't go off the deep end. It kind of defeated the purpose when Ray found out he'd been kept in the dark and got pissed anyway. He needed to phrase things right, keep it calm, level, and not blow his stack. "I'm only upset because you didnt tell me, Fraser."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"You think I'm lying?"  
  
"Not purposely, no."  
  
Eyes narrowed, Ray met Fraser's intent gaze, his heart gearing up for a fight. "But you think I'm lying to myself, that I'm still jealous of this guy and using the whole secrecy thing as an excuse to be pissed?"  
  
Fraser reached over and took Ray's hand. He opened it palm up and rested it on his own. Tracing the long creases with his index finger, Fraser spoke quietly. "We both have issues with insecurity, Ray. I should've realized that when I first answered Alan's letter. When it became a regular activity, again, I should've said something. Still, I suppose the reason I didn't was rather perverse."  
  
"Perverse?"

"Yes. As much as I love you, Ray, I do like having a part of my life that's separate." Fraser lifted his head and looked straight into Ray's eyes. "It's not a test of your love or my love to have that. However, I knew you would see it as such and I still persisted."  
  
Ray closed his hand over Fraser's wandering fingers and took a deep breath. Nothing like a little bitch slap with the truth to take the wind out of a guy's sails. Shit. "It's not perverted to want to have a life of your own away from me, Fraser."  
  
"Perverse, not perverted, Ray."  
  
Ray grinned, his lips thinned. Funny how Fraser always fell for it. "I know that. Just testing."  
  
Fraser chuckled. "I often wonder about that."  
  
"But you still keep correcting."  
  
"Force of habit."  
  
Nodding, Ray leaned in with a sigh, his forehead resting against Fraser's. "I'm sorry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For being such a shithead, that you're afraid to even tell me about writing a friend. I know the whole thing with Alan is one-sided. It's just, just"  
  
"Just what, Ray?"

Ray sat up straighter to look Fraser in the face, to say what he had to say without blinking first. "Don't get me wrong. I trust you, always have, always will. It's just that sometimes I just get these little voices in my head telling me shit. It's just hard not to listen sometimes, that's all."  
  
Concerned, Fraser squeezed Ray's hand. "Voices, Ray?"  
  
Snorting, Ray shook his head. Leave it to Fraser to think he was ready to hitch a ride to the funny farm, especially since it was Fraser who first talked to a dead guy on a regular basis. "No, it's not voices like that, not voices like I'm crazy or anything. Just voices telling me that one of these days you're going to wise up and move on to a better deal." Before Fraser uttered a word, Ray held a finger against his lips with a little shush. "I know. I know. You've told me plenty of times that it's all bullshit, that there's nothing to worry about. I get that, I do. But sometimes it's just hard to believe, especially after I act like some kind of creep and make your life miserable."  
  
Fraser captured Ray's finger at his lips and pulled it away. "May I speak now?"  
  
"Sure."

Voice strong, Fraser cupped Ray's cheek with his free hand. "The only way my life would ever be truly miserable, Ray, is if you weren't in it. Certainly, there are times when you cause frustration and heartache, but as you've pointed out many times, life with me is no 'bed of roses', either. This partnership is all about give and take, love and acceptance, to use your expression, 'warts and all'. We both come to it with emotional issues that at times strain and test the limits of our commitment. That doesn't mean I'd ever abandon you or give up trying to make things better." Fraser leaned in, kissed him gently, and pulled back. "You're my life, Ray. Your impact is profound and everlasting. You force me to examine what I need, what I want, what I require to survive."  
  
Eyes stinging, lungs tight, Ray bit his lower lip before he managed a husky whisper. "What do you need, want, and require?"  
  
Fraser didn't hesitate. "You."

"Me, huh?"  
  
"Yes, Ray, you."  
  
Nodding, not trusting his own voice, Ray captured Fraser's lips with his own, the taste rich and familiar. Fraser moaned into Ray's mouth and pushed him back against the pillows. Fraser's hand wandered down to the edge of Ray's T-shirt, pulling it up, urgently stroking the exposed nipples. Ray broke the kiss and teased. "We'll be late."  
  
Fraser grinned, his eyes dark with desire. "The way you drive? Not likely."

* * *

"Calm down, Renny, before you bust a gasket."  
  
"A gasket, Ray?" 

Peter Pulaski laughed out loud as he explained before Ray could. "He's saying you're going to bust a gut, Hon. It's great that you're having such a good time showing the guys around the place, but all this gusto is over the top even for you."

Ray watched as Renny's lover put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed with obvious affection. Concerns for the relationship fizzled because even Ray could see the love, the devotion to Turnbull, in every move the guy made. Not to mention, Renny had nothing but stars flashing in his own baby blues when he checked out Peter. 

Renny blushed deeply as he accepted the hug and then kissed Peter lightly on the cheek. They sat all cozy on the sofa just like a newlywed couple. "Understood."  
  
Ray got a little shiver at the public display and the use of the word that Fraser used so often. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "So, Renny, this is quite a step up from the cardboard box you called home, huh?"  
  
Turnbull nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed, although I must confess that at times it's a bit overwhelming."  
  
"Guess that explains the one bedroom with nothing but a cot that looks like a holding cell."

Peter answered for Renny. "That's his getaway. When he thinks things are too good, he goes there to meditate."

Ray shook his head in disbelief. "Meditate? Turnbull?"  
  
Renny didn't take Ray's skepticism as a criticism, but simply explained. "Actually, Ray, I find meditation quite rewarding. It allows me to contemplate my good fortune as well as clear my mind of worries. I find it makes me a much better person overall."

"I think you're a pretty good person already, Sweetheart." Pulaski punctuated his words with another shoulder squeeze and kiss on the cheek.  
  
Ray ignored the sugar-sweet endearment and asked, "So, is just owning what you can carry on your back a Mountie lifestyle thing or what?" 

Renny exchanged glances with Fraser before he answered, "I don't understand, Ray."

Fraser crossed his arms as he explained Ray's comment. "I think he's referring to the fact that both of us travel comparatively lightly."  
  
Ray added, "Yeah, like me, I've got stuff that I don't even know what to do with. I guess I'm just a stuff kind of guy."  
  
"Nothing wrong with having stuff," Peter chipped in.

Ray had to smile, because Peter had enough stuff for about four houses. "Yeah, I can see that. Anyway, I was just wondering why it is that you and Fraser could put everything you own in a duffel bag and be happy and me and Pete here are pretty much packrats. So, is that like a Mountie thing or just a Fraser and Turnbull thing?"  
  
Renny shook his head. "I have no idea, but I would think it has something to do with the fact that many of us in the service rarely stay in one posting for any extended period of time."  
  
It didn't take a detective to see the change as Pete suddenly got a little straighter at the talk of transfers. Ray changed the subject and turned his attention to what he'd been wanting to ask since they arrived. "Hey, Pete, Renny tells me you're a car freak. That true?"  
  
Pete grinned, the dark mood quickly lifted. "You could say that. From what I saw you drive in with, I'd say I'm not the only one who appreciates a classic."  
  
"Yeah, the GTO, she's a sweet ride."

"I'll bet. You interested in checking out the workshop? I've got a couple of beauties out there you might appreciate."  
  
Ray turned to Fraser. "You mind?"  
  
"Certainly not, Ray. Turnbull and I have some food to prepare."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Squeezing Renny's hand, Pete stood up. "We won't be long, Babe. I'll fry up the burgers when we're through."  
  
"It's fine, Peter. Take your time."

While Fraser and Turnbull took off towards the kitchen with Dief padding right behind, Peter and Ray headed out to the garage. Once there, Ray let out a whistle. "Man, I don't fucking believe it." He stepped forward and ran a hand over the shiny black surface of a 390 GT 325 bhp V8 Ford Mustang. "It looks just like the one in BULLITT."  
  
"You've got a good eye. It's exactly the same. Restored it myself."  
  
"You a McQueen fan?"  
  
"Ever since I could jerk off, yeah."  
  
Ray chuckled. "Yeah, I know what you mean. The guy was hot."  
  
Pete walked over to a small refrigerator in the corner. "You want a beer? I've got Miller's or Guinness."  
  
Ray hesitated, knowing full well Fraser would rag his ass later on. Still, it was a night out to relax, so he gave in. "Sure, thanks. Miller's will do." 

Ray stepped over to the other car in the garage, a '69 Z/28 Camero. Red with white stripes, the auto was in pristine condition. It almost hurt to see such mechanical beauty all in one place. "This is fucking rare. I've never seen a real one outside a car show. Where the hell did you get it?"

Handing him the bottle, Pete beamed with pride. "It's a long story. Suffice it to say, I paid enough to put the guy's kids through an Ivy-league college."  
  
"I'll bet. Can we pop the hood?"  
  
"No problem."

As Pete lifted the hood, Ray took a big drink. He shuddered at the rush, the direct slam as the stuff hit his stomach. God, how he missed that, the smell of beer and grease, all mingled together, how he and his dad used to spend weekends and every free night tricking out the GTO together. He pushed away the painful memory of his dad's recent rejection and took another long swallow. It didn't take away the pain, but somehow it made it a little easier to deal with.

Pete beamed proudly as he spouted off some specs. "This thing will burn up the road, man. It's got a '69 Muncie M-22 Rockcrusher 4-speed transmission, Chevy pistons, a Crower roller cam, dual 600 cfm Holley carburetor, Chevrolet Cross-ram intake, Ed Hansen 2 and half inch exhaust, and Flowmaster mufflers. That's just for starters."  
  
Jealous as hell, Ray nodded in admiration at the pure automotive splendor. "Sweet."

"Sweeter than sugar, man." Pete patted the car, all flushed with pride. "It's my baby."  
  
Ray took another drink and finished off his beer. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I know what you guys make and there's no way in hell you paid for all this on a paramedic's salary."  
  
Reaching over, Pete grabbed Ray's empty and tossed it. "Want another?"  
  
"Sure. Thanks."  
  
As he handed Ray another drink, he shrugged and then waved a hand back at the house and then the garage with all it's expensive tools, a mechanic's dream shop. "You're right. Most of this stuff I bought with money I got from my grandfather."  
  
"Rich, huh?"  
  
"You might say that." Pete settled on a stool by the workbench. "Ever hear of Pulaski's Pickles?"  
  
Ray's eyes widened. "You're one of those Pulaski's? Fuck. My mom used to buy those all the time. Sauerkraut, too. Hell, half the stuff she bought was Pulaski's brand."  
  
"I wouldn't think a woman with a name like Vecchio would be into Polish food."  
  
Ray remembered that Pete didn't know about his undercover assignment, so he tossed a quick comeback. "What? Polish families never ate spaghetti?"  
  
Laughing, Pete got the point. "Yeah, stupid comment. Anyway, he made a fortune, and my dad was his only son and I was his only grandkid. When Gramps died, he left me more than enough to be comfortable."  
  
"So you do the ambulance thing just for the hell of it?"  
  
Pete's expression hardened. "Look, I like what I do. I'm good at it. Having money doesnt mean I want to just sit on my ass and do nothing."  
  
"No offense. It just seems weird, that's all."  
  
"Weird? Why?"  
  
Ray sipped before he answered. "I guess I figured somebody with money might not be into blue collar work, you know the hands on stuff. I guess I'd expect them to go for being a professor or businessman or something like that." 

"I could've, but I prefer having a social life and being able to do more than work 24/7." He waved at all the cars inside and outside the garage. "I wouldn't have time to tinker as Renny calls it." Pete paused, his voice a little softer. "Hell, and I wouldn't have met my Renny."  
  
Enjoying the warmth spreading through his system, Ray relaxed a little by settling on a chair opposite Pete. "How'd that happen exactly? Renny says you came in and swept him off his feet."  
  
Still nursing his first beer, Pete grinned. "You believe in love at first sight?"  
  
Ray flashed on Stella and the bank. He took another drink to squelch the memories before they got out of hand. "Yeah, it happens."

"Well, that's what it was when I saw Renny. Some tourist fainted at the Consulate and I took the run. Thank god I did, too. God, he was all dressed in red and looking about as gorgeous as a person can stand, you know? I couldn't help myself. As soon as my shift was over, I called him and asked him out."  
  
Ray cleared his throat, not wanting to sound stupid, but too curious to resist. "So, how'd you know he might be interested?"  
  
"You mean, how'd I know he was gay?"  
  
"Yeah, I mean, I never knew, not until Fraser told me that he swung that way and that was a long time after I'd known him. I had no clue."  
  
Pete tilted his head and studied Ray a couple extra seconds before he answered. "Let me ask you something first."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're bi, right? Renny said you'd been married before."  
  
Ray frowned, but then remembered that Vecchio had been married before, too. "Yeah, why? Does that make a difference?"  
  
"It might. I mean, the people I know who are gay, they just know when someone else is gay, too. Being bi, that muddies up the waters."  
  
"I don't get that. What's that mean, muddies up the waters?"  
  
"I guess it just means you don't always see it because you're not looking for it quite the same way. You see a girl, you can go for it, no problem. You want a guy, you've got to be more careful, that's all."  
  
"I guess that makes sense."  
  
"You learn pretty early to look for the right signs so you don't get the shit kicked out of you if you guess wrong."  
  
The harsh tone caught Ray's interest even more. "That ever happen to you? You ever pick the wrong guy to come on to?"  
  
"Once or twice when I was younger, yeah." Pete finished off his beer and pitched the bottle in the recycling bin. "Doesn't matter now, because I dont plan to go looking anymore. I've got what I need in Renny."  
  
The beer fueled Ray's next question. "Why Renny?"  
  
"Why Fraser?"

"I asked first."

"Fair enough. Renny's everything I want in a partner. He's gorgeous and kind and he is what he is, no pretending, you know? He's the most loyal and loving guy I've ever met. After years of having guys come after me for my money, that's a dream come true." Pete sat back and stared at Ray. "A better question might be why he went for me." 

The beer must have dulled Ray's thinking because he missed the lead in. "What are you asking exactly? You don't think you're attractive enough?"  
  
"Look at me and figure it out."  
  
Ray took a survey. Dressed in a white T-shirt with blue jean cut offs, Pete more than showed off his good looks. Well-muscled, but lean, Pete stood a little over six foot with short blond hair and blue eyes. In fact, Ray and he could pass for brothers if Ray ever gained back a few pounds. The light went on in Ray's head. "Come on. You dont really think that Renny went out with you because he had a crush on me."  
  
"Yeah, at first."  
  
"But not now?"  
  
"No, not now." Pete hesitated. "To be honest, I was a little intimidated at first. It was Ray this and Ray that with a lot of Fraser worship thrown in. It wasn't until after I really got to know him that I realized that's just the way he is. He says he loves me and I believe that. It might have started out that the attraction was because I looked like you, but it didn't stay that way. That's all that matters."  
  
"You're right. Renny wouldn't move in with you if he still had a thing for me. Besides, he knows I've only got eyes for Fraser."  
  
"Which brings me back full circle. Why Fraser? I mean, let's face it, you two are about as different as night and day."

"Opposites attract."  
  
"In the movies, maybe, but in real life, I've found that you've got to have some kind of connection or it falls apart."  
  
Ray finished off his beer and got up to put the bottle in the bin before sitting back down. "You and Renny do okay. You can't say you two have much in common."  
  
"More than you think. You want another?"  
  
"Better not. Two's my limit."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Fraser doesn't drink."  
  
"Neither does Renny, but he doesn't tell me how much I can have."  
  
Ray stiffened. "Neither does Fraser. It's just I have to drive home."  
  
"Sure, okay."

"So tell me what you and Renny have in common, because from where I'm sitting, it's like lion and lamb time."  
  
Pete chuckled. "Guess I don't have to ask which is which, huh?"  
  
"I mean, you don't have to tell me. It's none of my business, but I'm just curious."  
  
"Guess that's from being a cop, huh?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
Pete sighed and leaned back, his expression more serious. "Look, what do you know about Renny's family?"  
  
Ray shook his head, ashamed to say he knew next to nothing about his friend's background. "Not much."  
  
"That's probably because he doesn't talk about it, but he's only got his dad and they're estranged, sort of like how I am with my own old man. Anyway, there's that and other stuff. He likes art, and I do, too. He likes working in the house and I like working on cars. We both like music and dancing. We have a good time whether we go out or stay in, and that's something in my book. The main thing is that we both want to make a life together. I've been looking for that for a long time."  
  
"So, you're ready to settle down, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, I am."  
  
"What if Renny gets transferred?"  
  
Pete took a deep breath and shrugged. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."  
  
"You willing to go North?"  
  
"He might decide to stay here."  
  
Ray caught the flicker of uncertainty and persisted. "You didn't answer the question." 

"I don't know. I might. It just depends on if I can't talk him into staying here. Whatever happens, I want to stay together."  
  
Ray relaxed and nodded. "Good. That's good."

"So finish what you started earlier. Why you and Fraser other than the obvious?"  
  
"The obvious?"  
  
"Yeah, you know, the package. The guy looks like he just stepped off the cover of some magazine. He could do modeling and make a damn fine living."  
  
"That's a fact."  
  
"But beyond that, I don't know him at all, other than what Renny's told me. He's kind of shut down."  
  
Ray frowned and shook his head, not really understanding exactly what that meant from Pete's point of view. "Shut down?"  
  
"Yeah, you know reserved. He's polite enough, but he plays it close to the vest, doesnt show his hand, you know? It's like he's wearing armor, like he's been really hurt or something and he's not taking any chances. Hell, you call him Fraser, like calling him by his first name might be too intimate or something. It's just weird, that's all."  
  
If Pete ever gave up his day job, he wouldn't be half bad as a cop. "Look, Fraser's Fraser. You don't know him."  
  
"Which means what?"  
  
"That I love him and he loves me. We fit. That's all that matters."  
  
"True enough." Pete motioned his head towards the house. "Guess we should head in and start grilling."  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
As they got up, Pete's expression got more serious. "You do know there's a car with two guys parked out in front of the house ever since you and Fraser got here, right?"  
  
Ray turned his head, surprised by Pete's skills of observation. "Yeah, I know."  
  
"Should we be worried?"  
  
"I've got some stuff going on with the Feds. They're keeping an eye out, that's all."  
  
Pete nodded, considering his words carefully. "This stuff with the Feds, is it going to put Renny in danger?"  
  
"It shouldn't, no. This is just a precaution."  
  
"Good." He stopped and put an hand on Ray's arm, his voice suddenly tighter. "Be careful. Renny cares a lot about you. Hell, in his own way, I think he even loves you."  
  
"We're friends, Pete, that's all."  
  
"I know. I'm just saying, I dont want him to lose anybody he cares about. Watch your back."

"Believe me, I plan to." Ray tried to lighten the mood, to take his mind off his own concerns. "Besides, I've got Fraser watching my back. Can't get better than that."  
  
Pete slapped him on the shoulder. "From everything I've heard, you sure can't. You've got your Mountie and I've got mine. Now, let's go show those Canadians how to grill the hell out of some hamburger."

Ray shook his head in amusement as they resumed walking to the house. "Knowing Fraser, he'll probably talk about how grilling meat over charcoal causes cancer or something. Don't take it personal when he does that, because he does it a lot. He just knows a lot of weird stuff."  
  
"God, sounds like Renny. Mounties might be the best lovers on the planet, but they don't know shit about good old-fashioned American food."

Ray refused to think about Mounties and mounting, not when he couldn't get home until after supper. He didn't know why exactly, but just the thought of Renny and Pete getting it on turned his crank something awful. He swallowed hard and focused on getting through the night without jumping his partner before he got him home to do it right. 

* * *

Any chance of getting lucky with Fraser ended when Fraser got a good whiff of Ray's breath and detected the beer. Ray saw it as soon as it happened, Fraser smiling and then going stiff and injured, like Ray slugged him all over again. After that Fraser answered only when asked a question. He went through the motions of being sociable with Turnbull and Pete, but pretty much kept Ray at a distance. Fraser's detached attitude lasted all the way home. By the time they walked into the apartment, Ray just wanted to call it quits for the evening and hit the sack before he hit Fraser.  
  
As he headed towards the bathroom, Dief padded over to curl up on his rug in the corner and Fraser finally broke the strained silence between them. "Ray."  
  
Turning, his shoulders squared, ready to fight if he had to, Ray snapped, "What?"  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
"About what? About how you ruined the first normal evening we've had in months?"  
  
"Is that what you think I did, ruined the evening because I was upset that you'd been drinking?"  
  
Ray came back into the center of the room, standing nose-to-nose with Fraser. "I had two lousy beers, Fraser." He held up his fingers. "Two, count 'em, two, and then I stopped. That's not a crime last time I checked."  
  
"Ray "

"I stopped, Fraser. Don't you get that? I could've gotten drunk, but I didn't. Can't you be glad about that? Why do you have to make a big deal about it and fuck up the whole night." Ray stepped away, pacing as his frustration gained momentum. "I mean, there we were having a good time, you and me, Renny and Pete, acting like normal people for a change, or as normal as we get, and you wreck it by getting pissy about two stupid beers." Ray turned and crossed his arms, waiting to hear what Fraser had to say for himself, hoping like hell he'd just give it up and stop being a dick about the whole drinking thing.  
  
But Fraser's voice stayed steady, his intent gaze never wavering from Ray. "I am glad you stopped when you did, Ray, but I would've preferred that you didn't feel the compulsion to drink in the first place. I told you my feelings about this, yet you seem determined to test me about it."  
  
"Test you? You think whether I drink or not is about you?"  
  
"Not entirely, no, but it does show a callous disregard for my feelings. I suppose that's what concerns me the most, the fact that you don't seem to care how your behavior and your choices affect me."  
  
Suddenly ashamed of his own anger, Ray swallowed hard before he spoke, his voice no longer quite so edgy. "I do care."  
  
"Your actions say differently."  
  
Suddenly very tired, Ray turned away and walked over to the turtle tank. Turtle lifted his head slowly and blinked as Ray reached in and rubbed the little guy's shell. Sometimes he envied Turtle, how he could just sit in his tank and not worry about anything or anybody, just pull his head and legs inside his shell and rest. Closing his eyes, Ray dropped his head, almost too weary to keep going. "It's not about you, Fraser. Don't make this about you. It's not."  
  
A hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed. "I love you, Ray. I know it's not about me, not entirely."  
  
Ray turned, wrapping his arms around Fraser's middle, rubbing his cheek against the thin fabric of the cotton shirt damp with sweat, rich with Fraser's scent. He took a deep breath, the familiar smell heady, his cock twitching with faint arousal. "I love you, too. I just wanted to relax, have a good time, be normal."  
  
Cupping the back of his head, Fraser kissed his temple. "You've used the word normal four times in less that two minutes."

"Yeah?" Ray lifted his head to face Fraser. "Maybe that's because it's hard being a freak all the time, Fraser."  
  
"Being a freak or living with one?"  
  
"Both."  
  
Fraser pulled away slightly, but Ray held on even tighter. "Don't. I'm just trying to be honest. It's not a putdown." When Fraser didn't answer, just stood there frowning, Ray caressed his cheek. "You know when I call you a freak, I don't mean it as anything bad, right?"  
  
"I used to, Ray."  
  
"But now you're not sure?"  
  
This time Fraser did pull away, breaking free from Ray's hold before he settled on the sofa. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face with both hands. "I'm tired, Ray. I don't know what you want from me."  
  
Ray settled beside Fraser, his hand palmed against his back. He'd only heard Fraser sound so utterly dejected a handful of times. He got scared as hell every time it happened. "Where's this coming from? This can't be about the booze. It's more than that. What's going on?"  
  
Fraser didn't move away from the contact, but he didn't respond like he usually did by leaning in closer, either. Instead, he spoke quietly as he stared off. "I'm not sure."  
  
"Don't give me that. What's bugging you besides me drinking?"  
  
Hesitating, Fraser cleared his throat first. "You enjoyed spending time with Peter."  
  
"Peter?"  
  
"I mean, you two have a lot in common. You both like classic cars and sports, you grew up in the same neighborhood, have the same heritage. You both developed quite the camaraderie in a very short period of time. Even Turnbull commented on how quickly you took to one another so readily."  
  
Ray shook his head, not sure if he'd heard right. Surely that couldn't be it. "You think I have a thing for Pete Pulaski?"  
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
"Not directly, but that's what I'm hearing."

"I trust you, Ray."  
  
"Apparently not if you think I'd make a play for Renny's boyfriend."  
  
Fraser sat back, his arms crossed, and shook his head. "I don't think you'd do that. However, I have to confess that I've never seen you react so immediately in such a friendly manner before."

"So, when we went to the garage, you think we made out or something, maybe fucked a little while we tuned the engines? Is that what you think?"  
  
"Don't be silly."  
  
"You first."  
  
"Ray "  
  
"I mean it, Fraser, you're being an idiot."  
  
Fraser blinked a couple of times and then licked his lower lip. "It's a powerful feeling."  
  
"What? Feeling like an idiot?"  
  
Still frowning, Fraser studied him for a moment. "Is this how you felt when you found out I was writing to Alan, how you felt when you threatened him at Christmas?"  
  
"Jesus, Fraser, are you serious?"  
  
"It's a simple question, Ray. Is this how you felt?"  
  
"You mean, did I feel like someone was gutting me every time I saw how he looked at you when you two were together, yeah."

"More like someone choking off my air every time you laughed or stood close together."  
  
"That, too."

Nodding, like he finally understood a difficult equation, Fraser reached for Ray's hand. "I don't know what came over me, Ray."

Squeezing Fraser's hand with relief, Ray scooted a little closer. "You have to know I'd never go for a guy like Pete, not to mention, Renny would stomp my ass if I ever tried."  
  
"But what if he weren't with Turnbull?"  
  
"That was a joke, Fraser. It doesn't matter who he's with. For one thing, Pete's too much like me. For another, first time he called me sweetheart, I'd have to hit the road so I wouldn't punch him out."  
  
Fraser finally smiled and nodded. "It was a bit much."  
  
"Renny likes it, but if you ever pull that shit, I'll be obligated to wash your mouth out with soap."  
  
"Understood. If I might add, I feel the same way. Overly sweet endearments have never appealed to me."  
  
"Probably because you never grew up around it. Somehow, I can't see your dad saying anything too sweet and sappy to anybody, including your mum. He's just not the mushy type."  
  
"Quite right. Though, that's not entirely the reason."  
  
More relaxed, still holding Fraser's hand, Ray prompted, "Yeah? So what's the rest of the reason?"  
  
"It's not important."  
  
"The very fact that you say that makes me believe it is important." Ray nudged him with his elbow. "Come on, spill. What turned you off on the honeybunches and sweeties deal?"  
  
Fraser squeezed his hand twice before he finally answered. "Joshua often used them."  
  
"Joshua Bullweather, the prick who abused you when you were first starting out as a Mountie?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Fuck."  
  
Fraser turned his head, his face pale and strained. "Listening to Peter tonight, well, it brought back rather unpleasant memories. Then when I saw how you two were so comfortable together, well, I have to say I'm not proud of how I reacted."  
  
"I was just having a good time."  
  
"I know. I don't begrudge you that. You should have friends with similar interests. Pete seems to be that."  
  
The slight tug on the words, just the slightest hesitation alerted Ray to something else, something Fraser hadn't said yet. "I get the jealousy thing. It's not rational, but I get it. And I can see where hearing Pete talk like some lovesick weenie over Renny might give you the heebie jeebies, but what else is going on? I mean, weren't you the one who said we should give the guy a chance?"  
  
"Yes, I was, and I still hold to that position. My reaction to him and how he related to you so eagerly, well, as you said, it wasn't rational. However"  
  
"However, what?"  
  
"While I understand it's up to Turnbull as to whether he wants to remain with Peter, I can't say I would've done the same."  
  
Frowning, Ray floundered without a clue. "What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"While we were alone, Turnbull related to me that Peter was unfaithful at least twice while they were first dating."  
  
"He cheated on Renny?"  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid so."  
  
"The bastard."  
  
"It was one of the reasons Turnbull hesitated to make a commitment. I fear that I allowed that information to color how I viewed his reaction to you."  
  
"You thought he'd make a move on me right there in front of Renny?"  
  
"I wasn't thinking clearly."  
  
Ray took a deep breath and then put an arm around Fraser's shoulder, drawing him closer. "Jealousy will do that, make it so you can't think straight, like your brain gets all twisty and you want to slam somebody and puke at the same time." Kissing the top of Fraser's head, he whispered, "I love you. Anybody comes onto me, he's wasting his time."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"But you kind of snapped, huh?"  
  
"I plead temporary insanity."  
  
"Been there, done that."  
  
Fraser finally relaxed against him. "I'm concerned about Turnbull."  
  
Rubbing his chin against Fraser's soft hair, Ray sighed. "You're thinking, once a cheater, always a cheater?"  
  
"I've become rather fond of Turnbull over time and I don't want him to get hurt."  
  
"Well, there's nothing you can really do about it. I mean, they're living together now. Maybe that'll be enough so that Pete doesn't roam again. I mean, he seems pretty stuck on Renny."  
  
"Yes, but he also seemed very attracted to you."

"Fraser "  
  
"I'm serious, Ray. You didn't see how he looked at you when your back was turned. I am, after all, a trained observer, and I observed quite clearly a man who saw someone he found sexually attractive."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Ray kept calm, knowing how tough jealousy can be to shake off. "It wasn't like that, and even if it was, even if I was blind as a bat and didnt pick up on the vibe, it wouldn't matter. I don't cheat. Ever. File it, dot it, stick it in a box marked done. I'm a one and only kind of guy."

"I know that, Ray." Fraser's voice softened. "Let's go to bed."  
  
"You tired?"  
  
"Not too tired." To make his point, Fraser's hand slipped between Ray's legs, fingers spread wide, stroking his crotch.  
  
The zing from the touch fired up Ray's middle. He bit his tongue, dropping his head back. Groaning, he shuddered as Fraser unzipped his pants, reaching in and freeing his growing erection. Dipping his head, Fraser took him in, sucking expertly until he was hard. He did him the way Ray liked best, slippery and hot, using his hand to fondle Ray's balls and his mouth and throat to control the suction. Ray bucked, shoving and coming too fast, spinning into a burst of color and splash of pleasure that warmed him from head to toe. Fraser didn't release him right away, letting him soften slowly, gentle licks sending little aftershocks all along his belly. Lips swollen, Fraser's red tongue flicked out and cleaned him off.  
  
"Jesus, Fraser."  
  
His voice, all husky and anything but innocent, Fraser lifted his head with a smile. "Yes?"  
  
Ray couldn't remember the last time Fraser had blown him on the couch, not like that anyway, all wanton and loose, hotter than anyone Ray could ever want in his life. "What was that?"  
  
"What was what, Ray?"  
  
"What you just did."  
  
"Fellatio, Ray. I believe we've done it a number of times before."  
  
"Well, yeah, we've done it before, but not like that, not with you doing me without warning like that."  
  
"You didnt like it?"  
  
"Are you kidding? Hell, yeah, I liked it."  
  
"So your point would be?"  
  
Ray took a big breath, his head finally clearing enough to think and make sense at the same time. "My point would be, get your ass in the bedroom so I can return the favor." 

Fraser stood up, stripping off his clothes as he headed to the bedroom without another word. It wasn't like Fraser, not at all, to flash his ass like that, to be so damn sexy and inviting. He usually talked everything to death before going for it. Not that Ray wanted to complain. He didn't, not when he got the best blow jobs on the planet. Jeez.  
  
Ray stood up and followed, his legs still a little shaky. He'd worry about the weird Fraser behavior later when he got more blood in his brain than in his greedy and quickly recovering dick.

* * *

Waking up the next morning, Ray put his arm out to find the bed cold and empty. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and leaned forward. His dick still ached a little, but in a good way. They hadn't done that in a long time, not since Christmas, like Fraser was starving, like they were newlyweds all over again. He shuddered at the erotic images lambasting his brain, making him half-hard again as he thought about Fraser on all fours, offering himself up, needing it and finally able to ask for it, begging for it even. 

As he wiped the sleep from his eyes, he heard signs of life in the other room. Reaching over, he picked up his shorts and pulled them on before slipping on his T-shirt. Stiff and still tired from not enough sleep and way too much messing around, he stood up and walked to the doorway. Arms crossed, he leaned against the doorjamb and enjoyed himself as a fully dressed Fraser put plates on the table. He looked clean and crisp, downright pure, not at all like the man he'd fucked until daylight. "Morning."  
  
Fraser's head came up and he smiled with a smile like no other smile on the planet. "Morning, Ray. Coffee's almost ready."  
  
"You read my mind."

"You have coffee every morning. It hardly takes psychic abilities to know that."  
  
As Fraser finished pouring his own tea, Ray walked over and moved in behind him. He wrapped his arms around Fraser's waist, kissing the back of his neck before whispering. "Last night, Fraser, last night was something. Thanks."  
  
Relaxing against Ray's front, Fraser put his tea down on the cabinet and turned. He hugged him and then leaned in for a kiss, but Ray jerked his head back. "Morning breath."  
  
"I don't mind, Ray."  
  
Ray grinned, remembering all the things Fraser had done to him the night before and shrugged. "Guess not."  
  
Mouths met, slow and easy, taking their time. Fraser's tongue said good morning and then some. Fraser pulled back, still smiling, his voice husky. "I love you, Ray."  
  
"Me, too, Fraser, love you that is."  
  
"I know." Fraser shook his head, chastising himself. "Sometimes I just need reminding."  
  
Ray patted his cheek. "Last night do it for ya?"  
  
Lips thinned into an impressive grin. "Well, yes, Ray, it surely did."  
  
"Glad to hear it. I'm not as young as I used to be though, so next time you might want to warn me."  
  
"Warn you?"  
  
"Yeah, warn me when you're going to turn into some kind of sex machine." Before Fraser spoke, Ray held up a hand. "I'm not complaining."  
  
"Good, because I'm not going to apologize." Fraser reached for his tea and settled at the table, just dropped into the chair, no problem. 

Ray shook his head in amazement. "How can your ass not be sore? Even my dick hurts."  
  
Chuckling, Fraser lifted his cup in a toast. "Actually, I find the sensation rather appealing. It reminds me of what we did."  
  
"You really are a freak."  
  
"Which I've come to accept."  
  
Ray grabbed a cup and poured himself some coffee. He laced it with the M&Ms sitting out waiting for him on the cabinet and then sat in the chair next to Fraser's. He drank down half of it before he spoke again. "I've been thinking "  
  
"Oh, dear."  
  
"Hardy, har, har. Very funny. Like I said, I've been thinking. Seems to me, it's kind of weird that you'd be more jealous of Pete than Stella."  
  
Fraser's expression darkened. "Ray, do we have to have this conversation right now?"  
  
"Yeah, I think we sort of do. Why get so bent out of shape over Pete? I mean, I know you got a little jealous over Stella, but this was out of the blue and way over the top, especially for you."

Fraser put his cup down and sat back, steeling himself for what he needed to say, his face more serious. "Stella was different."  
  
"How?"  
  
"She was your ex-wife, the one person you truly loved for most of your life. I accepted that. You had a life with her, but she ended it. While I know you had deep feelings for her, feelings that at times even bordered on obsession, I also knew she didn't really want you back."  
  
Ray protested weakly. "She could've."  
  
"Ray "  
  
"Okay, okay, I know. She didn't want me back. Jeez, rub it in, why don't ya?" Ray took a deep breath, trying to put into words what he thought Fraser meant, why he didn't get waylaid by Stella like he did by Pete. "So, I guess you're saying you feeling jealous about her was just sort of in your head, something you could handle, because you knew it was over, her power over me was done, history, all she wrote."  
  
"Essentially, yes."

"But Pete, he was new territory, somebody you thought I might go for, somebody dangerous in a whole lot of ways because we've got so much in common. That scared you, sort of like how I got freaked out about Alan."  
  
Fraser swallowed a couple of times to find his voice. "Yes. Hearing you say it out loud makes it seem even more foolish."  
  
Ray shook his head and reached for Fraser's hand, his lifeline. "It's not stupid. It's human. You're allowed to be human, Fraser. I know you think that it's a weakness, but it just makes me love you all the more."  
  
"How can me being jealous make you love me more, Ray? I'd think you'd be ashamed of how I behaved."  
  
"I'm not saying I liked how you acted any more than you liked how I acted like an asshole about Alan. What I'm saying is, I love that you're human, that you make mistakes, and that you're man enough to fess up to it, not play it off like it doesn't matter. It does matter. It matters that you trust me, that you love me enough to tell me what's going on inside that strange brain of yours."  
  
Fraser squeezed his hand and leaned forward. "Ray, thank you."  
  
"For what? For understanding what it means to mess up?"  
  
"No, for understanding that I love you and that I do, indeed, trust you despite my deplorable lapse last night."  
  
"Then we're good?"  
  
"We're very good, yes."  
  
Ray took a deep breath before he broached the next subject. "I didn't get a chance to tell you that I made an appointment with Dr. Collier for later today at lunch."  
  
"Today?"  
  
"Yeah, I called, told her I needed to talk, and she worked me in pretty fast. Go figure. She's either got no patients or she thinks I'm a nut job who needs immediate attention."  
  
Fraser lifted Ray's hand to his lips and kissed the palm. He squeezed it again, his touch, his kiss like the best medicine ever. "She's a good therapist, Ray. I'm sure she'll be able to help."  
  
Ray gave Fraser's hand one final squeeze and then released it. He picked up his coffee, finished it off, and then got up for another cup. As he poured, he spoke quietly. "It's funny."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"I didn't have any nightmares last night. You'd think with all the stuff going on, the FBI parked out front, a possible mob guy on my ass, I'd have been freaking out like crazy." Fraser cleared his throat and Ray turned. "What?"

"Perhaps our sexual marathon provided an outlet for the anxiety that leads to your nightmares."  
  
Ray chuckled as he leaned back against the counter. "So, all we have to do is keep it up all night and I get to scream in a whole 'nother way, huh?"  
  
"I didn't mean it like that, Ray. I just think that perhaps the fact that we haven't been, well, that is to say "  
  
"Come on, Fraser, just say it, we haven't been going at it like minks the last few months."  
  
"Well, no, Ray, I wouldn't put it quite like that."  
  
Ray cocked his head in amusement at Fraser's flushed expression. The guy could go down on him, make love like nobody's business, but got red as a beet when he talked about it out loud. "You have to admit that we slowed down a hell of a lot lately."  
  
"I wouldn't call once or twice a week slow, Ray. The national average for married couples is "  
  
Ray held up a stalling hand. "Wait a minute, hold up. Are you saying you read national statistics about how many times a week people do it?"  
  
Fraser pulled at his collar as though the air suddenly got way too hot to handle. "I like to keep informed, Ray."  
  
Ray settled back down at the table. "And you looking up those numbers didn't have anything to do with the fact that I haven't been in the mood as much lately, huh?"  
  
"You've had a lot on your mind."  
  
"Yeah, well, that might be, but that doesnt mean I should slack off and leave you on your own. I mean, in the beginning we went at it night and day. Then all of a sudden, it's a dry spell."  
  
"It happens, Ray, but last night, well, I think we can safely say the dry spell, as you call it, is officially over."

Ray cracked a wry smile. "Oh, yeah." He leaned in for a quick kiss and then sat back. "You and me, we've still got it."  
  
"It, Ray?"  
  
"Yeah, you know, magic, zip, sheer sparkage, that's us."

"Without question, we certainly have sexual compatibility."  
  
"Sexual compatibility, huh?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I've got what you need and you do it for me. That works."  
  
"Indeed, it does."  
  
Ray nodded to himself, thinking back over the last few months, about how their intimacy, their tight connection, lessened somehow. "So why'd we let it slip away even for a little while?"  
  
"I don't know. Perhaps we just took it for granted, took one another for granted."  
  
"Yeah, but I don't want that. I don't want to take you or us for granted, Fraser. We've got to do better than that, and I'm not just talking about sex here. I'm talking about the whole thing, the whole ball of wax, you and me and the way we're so good together."  
  
"I agree."  
  
Ray bit his lower lip, thinking about how to make that happen, to keep the ball rolling. "I'll tell you what, why don't we go out tonight, make a date?"  
  
"A date as in a date **date** , Ray?"  
  
"Yeah, a date, just you and me. We'll dress up, go some place romantic, wine and dine without the wine. Leave Dief home." 

Fraser's blue eyes sparkled. "I'd like that very much, Ray. Would you like me to make some reservations?"  
  
"No, I'll do it. You just come home on time and we'll go out on the town, my treat."  
  
"With the FBI in tow?"  
  
"To hell with those guys. Let 'em get their own dates." Fraser chuckled and actually looked happy for the first time in ages. What a great way to start the day, Frase and a smile. "So, you with me?"  
  
"Always, Ray. Always." 

* * *

Ray sat at his desk, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he tried his best to decipher his own handwriting. No way scribble like that made real words, not in this universe. His only clues were the drawings beside each paragraph, little faces and figures that told a story all by themselves. Without those, he'd be stuck with nothing to go on. No wonder his teachers always threw a fit whenever he had to write essays. Maybe he should get Fraser to write all his notes from now on. 

Ray heard a throat clearing and glanced up. A black teenager stood there looking more serious than any kid had a right to look outside a funeral service. "Can I help you?"  
  
"You Vecchio?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'm Martin Jones."  
  
Ray took off his glasses and shut his file. His gut tightened and he pinched the bridge of his nose before training his attention back on Jones. He knew he shouldn't ask, shouldn't do anything but waltz the kid straight into Welsh's office. Instead, he nodded in recognition of the name. "You're the kid who worked for Warner."  
  
"Yeah. Mrs. Warner told me you'd be talking to me, but you never came by. Figured I'd save you the trouble."  
  
"Nobody's come by to question you about the murder?"  
  
"No."  
  
Something wasn't right. They should've grilled the kid already, found out what he knew, found out for sure about the guns and about O'Malley. FBI pricks were dropping the ball, like Ray should really be surprised that they didn't really give a flying fuck about a little old dead man with his head bashed in and a widow boohooing her eyes out. He bit back his irritation at the Feds and turned his attention back to the kid. "Why aren't you at school?"  
  
"I took off." Before Ray could say anything, Martin raised a hand. "Don't get bent out of shape, man. My mom knows I'm here. I told her I had to get this off my chest before I went crazy, so she told me I could come down and get it over with."

Alarms went off in Ray's head, his cop instincts on red alert. The kid might actually know something, something important. Fuck. He glanced over, but Welsh was out of the office. He swallowed hard and made a quick decision. "Let's go somewhere quiet and talk."

Ray got up and led the boy to one of the interview rooms, directing him to a chair. He shut the door and sat down across from him. "Okay, what is it that you need to get off your chest?"

"Mr. Warner wasn't the greatest guy in the world. He had his issues, man, but that doesn't mean he deserved to be killed like that, like he was nothing."  
  
"True enough."  
  
"So, anyway, I don't know what you know or don't know, but something's been bugging me ever since Mrs. Warner called my mom to tell her what happened."  
  
"And what's that besides the guy being dead and all?"  
  
Jones shifted nervously in the chair and fisted both his hands together on the table. Dark brown eyes zeroed in on Ray as he told his story, his voice sounding more confident than he looked. "First, you've got to get the set up."  
  
"Set up?"  
  
"Yeah, Mr. Warner, he has this grandson, Hank Silverman. They don't get along, never have, really bad blood, if you know what I'm saying. I think it's because Hank's dad was Jewish and, Mr. Warner, he had this grudge against Jews. Dont ask me why. Makes no sense to me. Anyway, Hank would come in sometimes and they'd fight, I mean almost come to blows, man."  
  
Knowing what little Ray knew about Warner's attitude toward Jews, he could understand that. "When was the last time Silverman came into the shop?"  
  
"The day before it happened."  
  
"The day before the murder?"  
  
"Yeah, I was there doing an inventory of the jewelry backlog. Something was different though. Warner was really pissed off about something. I heard him call Hank and tell him to get his ass over to the store. When Hank got there, I was in the back. I think Mr. Warner forgot I was even there or thought I'd gone home already or something."  
  
"Why do you think that?"  
  
"Because I don't think he would've said the things he said if he thought I was still there. I mean, I know he uses the word nigger and kike and all kinds of racial slurs, but he doesn't usually use them when I'm around unless he's lost it completely, you know? He was kind of two-faced about that, like I couldn't tell he was a bigot by just the way he treated folks different."  
  
"So why'd you work for him if he was like that?"  
  
"I needed the money. Plus, I figure I owed him."  
  
"Owed him? I thought he was the one who turned your brother in to the police."  
  
"He was, but my brother deserved it. Marvin broke the guy's window and tore the place up. He did a hell of a lot of damage. My mom couldn't pay for all that and if he waited for Marvin to pay, well, forget about it, not going to happen. So, I figured, I'd work, pay off the window, and if I made some extra cash and learned how to run a business, that'd be a bonus. You can say what you want about the old man, but he knew how to turn a profit without selling dope. In this economy that's not easy to do."  
  
Ray shook his head. Martin might only be sixteen, but he talked like a grown up, more mature than most of the adults Ray knew. "Pretty smart thinking for a kid."  
  
Martin snorted. "Kid? I'm sixteen going on forty, man. Anyway, back to the story without all the cursing. My mom doesn't like me talkin' like some street thug."

"Your mom's a classy lady."  
  
"Yeah, she is. So anyway, Hank comes in and Mr. Warner, he jumped him right off, cussing up a storm and calling him names, right in the guy's face."  
  
"And how did Silverman react?"  
  
"Well, that's the weird part."  
  
"Weird how?"  
  
"Hank's got a short fuse, just like his granddad, but this time he didn't say a lot back, not at first. After Warner finished blowing off steam, Hank asked him if he liked living."  
  
Chills went down Ray's back. "He said that?"  
  
"Yeah, gave me the creeps, man. It was like a threat, not right out like an I'm going to kill you kind of threat, but it was there in just the way he said it."  
  
Ray agreed, but he didn't say that out loud. "What happened next?"  
  
Martin paused, obviously more nervous, chewing on his lower lip first. "Mr. Warner told him that if he did anything to hurt Mrs. Warner, he'd kill him."  
  
"So, it was Warner who threatened Silverman?"  
  
"Sort of in self-defense, but yeah, I guess. There was something else, too."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Mr. Warner said he'd told somebody about what Hank was up to. I figured that meant he'd called the cops. That's when it really got scary."

"Scary how? What was it that Silverman was doing?"  
  
Martin swallowed hard, his voice strained. "I don't know for sure what Hank's into, but the scary part was that Hank told Warner he was a dead man. Just like that, you're a dead man. I mean, I know they fought, families do that, but I didn't know they really hated each other that bad. It was cold, man."

"And you're sure you don't know what Warner was talking about when he said he'd told someone about whatever Silverman was doing?"

"No, man. I only worked part time. I mean, there are some rumors in the neighborhood, but I never heard anything first hand from Hank."  
  
Ray stood up and paced the small room, rubbing his face with his right hand, jazzed with all the new information. "Rumors? What rumors did you hear about Silverman?"  
  
"Look, they're just rumors."

"Rumors that might've made Silverman kill his own grandfather."

Martin Jones hesitated, but then answered, "People say if you want a gun, he's the guy to talk to."  
  
"He sells guns?" 

"I don't mix in with all that, so I don't know for sure, but, yeah, that's what I heard. You want a piece with real firepower, Silverman's your man."

Bingo. The link to O'Malley by way of Silverman, Warner's grandson. That explained a hell of a lot, not everything, but a lot. Ray stood up straight and took a deep breath. First things first. "Look, are you sure Silverman doesn't know you were there that day?"  
  
"I'm sure. As soon as he left, I put the inventory book away and then took off out the back. I went across the street to the diner and watched out the front window. Mr. Warner left and closed up shop early, something he almost never did."  
  
Impressed with the kid's quick thinking, he nodded in approval. "Good move."

Martin stared at his hands and shook his head. "That was the last time I saw him alive. I should've said something to somebody. Maybe I could've made a difference."  
  
"You did the best thing, kid. You stayed out of sight. What you need to do now is keep doing that. I want you to stay here while I go find my lieutenant. He's going to want to hear this."  
  
"You think it's important?"  
  
The kid had no idea, no clue about how important. "Oh, yeah. It's a good lead."  
  
Martin frowned. "Yeah, I figured. I guess I was just hoping I was wrong."  
  
"You never know what will make or break a case."  
  
As Ray headed to the door, Martin asked, "You think if Hank finds out I came in with this, that he might come after me?"  
  
Ray took a deep breath, put on his game face, and lied through his teeth. "Don't worry, kid. You'll be fine."

* * *

"Are you kidding? Tell me you're kidding."  
  
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Welsh stared back, his face as hangdog weary as ever. "This isn't your case. The FBI wants to talk to the kid, they know where he lives. It's out of our hands."  
  
Ray shook his head, pacing the room, every instinct he had screaming like crazy. The kid needed to be under wraps, the sooner the better. "You can't just send him home. If it gets out that he fingered Silverman, he'd be an easy target."

"That's not likely."

"But we don't know that."

"It's not like he actually witnessed the crime."

"Lieu, this guy Silverman's got a rap sheet longer than my arm, and I'm not talking about penny-ante stuff. Plus, if he's the one who really killed Warner, well, the guy's got a screw loose. He stomped the old man to death and stabbed him for good measure and he was his grandfather." Ray leaned in, arms extended, both hands on the desk. "Look, Martin's just a kid. Couldn't we just pick up Silverman? We can turn him over to the FBI and then let them deal with him. At least he'd be off the streets before we sent the kid home."  
  
Welsh rubbed his face and then took a deep breath before he eyed Ray. "Here's the thing."  
  
"Thing? What thing?"  
  
"Let me finish."  
  
Ray stood up, swallowed back his next words, and waited. "The thing is, the FBI are supposed to be keeping us updated on the case, but there's been no mention of any Silverman other than your first mention of his name in the interviews."  
  
"And you don't think that's strange?"  
  
"Considering young Martin's story, I find it very strange. I also find it disturbing that no one from the federal authorities apparently bothered to follow up with an interview after you turned over the case. One of my men fumbled like that, he'd be walking a beat down by the docks until he was wearing his shoes for kneecaps. I don't like it. It stinks to high heaven."  
  
"Yeah, I know. Damn queer."  
  
"To say the least." Welsh worried the edge of the file on his desk and shook his head. "The best I can do is call Turner who can contact the FBI and see what's going on."

"What about Martin?" Ray saw the hesitation, the tiny window of opportunity in his lieutenant's eyes. He went for it. "Come on, Lieutenant. We can at least keep him here until you talk to Turner and we make sure he's safe."  
  
Reluctantly, Welsh relented. "Okay, we can keep him until Turner. That doesn't mean he'll be safe once he leaves here."  
  
"Lieutenant "  
  
Welsh held up a hand to end the argument. "I'm doing all I can do here, Detective. We're talking about the federal government."  
  
"And I'm talking about the life of a kid, sir."  
  
Welsh blinked first. "You really think he's in danger?"  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
Welsh shook his head again, avoiding Ray's challenging stare. "I'll admit, something's not right. I'm just not sure what it is yet."  
  
"Whatever it is, this kid Martin shouldn't have to pay for our screw-ups. He came here on his own, wanted to do the right thing. The least we can do is return the favor and keep him alive."  
  
"I'm not arguing here."  
  
"Sounds like it."  
  
"Well, I'm not. I'm just hoping we're not overreacting."  
  
Ray crossed his arms, still wound up and pissed off. "Between you and me, we've got over forty cop years to work with. You really think I'm making a big deal over nothing? You really believe that? You think it's safe to send this kid out on the streets until we know one way or another about this Silverman guy? What's your gut say about that, sir? Because mine's yelling we might as well book the hearse if we let this kid out of our sights before we book Silverman."

"I'm not saying you're wrong here."

Ray relaxed slightly, but still paced the small room. "So you'll keep an eye out for the kid until Turner can get here and straighten it out with the Feds?"  
  
"Yeah, I can do that."  
  
"Good, good, I appreciate that."  
  
"I'm not doing you any favors. Something tells me the Feds aren't going to be happy that you've interviewed their witness."  
  
"Not my fault they can't do their damn job worth shit."  
  
"Ray "  
  
Ray's temper went off like a flare gun, fast and burning bright. "Don't Ray me here, Lieutenant. This has been one lousy fuck up after another. First the thing with Clooney getting a deal and now this shit. I've had enough, more than enough shit to deal with. I don't want anybody else dead or damaged because they want to play cat and mouse games or whatever the fuck they're playing at. It's got to stop somewhere." Ray slammed his fist into the back wall of Welsh's office, the shock blasting up his arm all the way to his shoulder. He jerked his hand back, surprised at the jarring pain, and saw bloody knuckles. Fuck.

Welsh's voice stayed the same, not any louder, just calm like he was talking to some nut job crying on his shoulder. Sometimes it pissed Ray off how he did that, stayed all cool and collected when Ray thought he might lose his fucking mind. "You finished abusing my office, Detective?"  
  
Grudgingly, Ray admitted. "Didn't feel as good as I thought it would."  
  
"Seems to me you weren't thinking much at all." Before Ray answered, he continued, "Guess we're lucky it wasn't Dewey's face."

Ray took a deep breath, the rage still pounding in his head, his heart still racing. He controlled it, but just barely. "Yeah, well, I meant what I said. There's got to be something we can do to get the damn Feds to do their job."  
  
"You beating down the walls won't make that happen any faster, Ray. Captain Turner's doing what he can and so am I. What you need to do is not lose your head."  
  
"Easy to say, sir."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Welsh cleared his throat, his expression even more solemn than usual. "Didnt you tell me you had an appointment for lunch?"  
  
Ray closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. He'd forgotten about telling Welsh he needed extra time off to see Collier. "Yeah, yeah, I did."  
  
"Maybe you should take off now while I contact Turner and see what we can do to clean up this mess."  
  
Ray checked his watch. He had fifteen minutes to get to Collier's office. Damn it. "Yeah, okay." As he hurried to the door, Welsh spoke to his back. "Get a handle on it, Ray. Understand?"  
  
"Yeah, sir, I understand."

Heading out, Ray took a detour to the restroom to clean up his hand before leaving the building. As he rinsed off his knuckles, he ignored the bruising and hoped like hell the swelling went down before Fraser saw it and started in with a nagging Q and A. No way did he want to explain to his partner why he lost a round with the stupid wall that didn't even have the courtesy to fight back.

* * *

Ray couldn't sit still, couldnt slow down enough to settle. He paced the doctor's office, window to the door and back again. "I don't know where to start."

Dr. Collier sat at her desk wearing a pale blue cotton knit dress. Cool as a breeze, dressed for summer, she studied him for a moment before she finally spoke. "Ray, you seem anxious. What's going on since we last talked?"  
  
"Lots of things. None I want to talk about."  
  
"Then why are you here?"  
  
"Good question."  
  
Collier waited for a few moments, her blue eyes watching his every move intently. "When you called for the appointment, you said you needed to see me and start therapy again. What prompted you to call after three months?"  
  
"Not what, who."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Fraser. He said he thinks I quit too soon, that I've still got some things to work out."  
  
"And do you?"  
  
"Do I what?"  
  
"Have things to work out?"  
  
"Maybe, probably, don't know."  
  
"Ray "  
  
Holding up a hand, Ray begged for patience. "Look, I don't know exactly why I'm here. I'm just here because I promised Fraser I'd come and I guess, if I'm honest about it, he's probably right, you know, about me needing to talk to somebody about some stuff. It's just not easy for me to talk about this shit, you know?"  
  
"Yes, I know."  
  
Ray swallowed hard, remembering back to Christmas, back to when this same woman dragged him through some of the toughest times of his life. He still didn't remember everything that happened with Clooney, but he knew enough to know it was worse than bad and so did she. Collier knew things about Ray than even Fraser didn't know. He'd spilled his guts and bawled his eyes out about what scared him, what he wanted, and what he worried about the most. She'd listened, offered good advice, but that didn't make it easier to admit that he needed help in the first place. Now he was back, still a mess, and falling apart all over again. He hated it, hated feeling weak and useless, frustrated with the world and pissed all the time, powerless against his own anger, his own scary darkness.

Still jumpy, he struggled to make sense. "I guess the biggest thing, the most important thing, is I've started having really bad nightmares again."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Pretty much the same thing as before."  
  
"Pretty much?"  
  
"Yeah, pretty much. I go through the whole thing with Clooney. Sometimes it's the first time he hurt me, sometimes it's the last time. It all gets muddled together. Sometimes it's not even me Clooney's hurting."

"Who's he hurting?"  
  
God, he hated to say it out loud, to hear it outside his head, like that somehow made it more real. "Fraser. It's Fraser instead of me, but I'm feeling what he's feeling, which is weird as hell, let me tell ya." Ray stopped moving and lowered his head, closing his eyes. "The thing is, either way I can't stop what's going on and it hurts, hurts like hell, like it's really happening over and over again."

"That must be frightening."  
  
"Yeah, and I wake up screaming like crazy, covered in sweat." Ray forced himself to sit down in the chair across from Collier. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before gripping the arms to keep his hands still. "They're getting worse. Fraser's been great about it, but I know he's worried."

"Ray, when did the nightmares start again?"  
  
Hesitating, Ray figured he should probably tell the truth and stop dancing around. "They never really stopped, not completely. They've just gotten worse."  
  
Collier leaned in against her desk. "When you left, you told me they were better."  
  
"And they were better, but I never said they were completely gone."  
  
"I see."  
  
Ray hated that phrase and jumped on it. "I wasn't lying. They were better."  
  
"I didn't mean to suggest you were lying, Ray."  
  
"Sounded like it."  
  
"I'm sorry it sounded that way. I'm just surprised that you ended your sessions if the nightmares were still occurring."  
  
"I figured I could deal with it on my own. Guess I was wrong."  
  
"Do you have any idea why the dreams started getting worse?"  
  
"Nope."

"Fair enough. In the past, you said that they weren't quite as bad if you worked out some during the day. So are you still boxing and going to the gym?"  
  
"No, not exactly. I mean, I do the PT for the leg when I've got time, but I don't really work out like I used to."

"Why not?"  
  
Ray shrugged, not wanting to think about his last trip to the gym when some jerk in the locker room asked him about his scars, wanted to know how he'd gotten so cut up. He'd played it off, made a joke, but somehow the thought of going back in the gym left him short of breath and in a panic he didn't want to have to explain to Fraser. He glanced up and realized Collier still waited for an answer. So he made one up, one that wasn't completely a lie, well, not completely. "Im too tired after doing the job all day."  
  
"All right, but what about your art as a stress reducer? Are you still involved with your photography and drawing?"  
  
"Lost interest. I mean, I've been working overtime, keeping busy. You know how it is, more scumbags than cops these days. It wears a guy down and eats up the free time."  
  
Collier's frown deepened, her expression a lot more serious. "So you have more stresses at work than usual?"  
  
"Out the wazoo, but that never really changed, not until just a few days ago when all hell broke loose. Then it got a whole lot worse."  
  
"You want to tell me about that?"  
  
Ray leaned forward, his head pounding again. He rubbed his temples with his balled up fists, praying that it wouldn't get too bad before he could grab some Tylenol or maybe a few beers. He licked his lower lip, more than a little thirsty, thinking just a few swallows of scotch would do the trick. "I can't tell you the specifics. It's an ongoing investigation. All I can say is it's a mess because the Feds are involved and they took my case, which turns out to be connected to Clooney in a round about way. It's a clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks. Pardon my language."  
  
"I've heard worse."  
  
"Yeah, I know, from me."  
  
"From many of my patients. Don't worry about it. Just tell me how you're feeling. You look like you have a headache."  
  
Ray sat back, his eyes still closed, still fighting off the pressure building up just behind his eyelids and then trailing down the back of his neck. "Yeah. I've been getting them a lot lately. Fraser thinks they're stress headaches."  
  
"Are they?"  
  
"Yeah, probably."

"What in particular do you feel stressed about today?" 

Ray left out how he didn't even want to come in, how just the thought of starting therapy again stressed him out when dumped in with all the other shit in his life. Instead, he told her about the work that made him more than a little frazzled. "The case, mainly. I mean, I've got an FBI surveillance team following me around, an old buddy of Clooney's who probably wants me dead, and a kid who came in and gave a statement that might get him killed. Like I said, it's a mess."  
  
"Do you think your nightmares might be connected with the resurfacing of the Clooney connection with the case?"  
  
Ray stretched, arched his shoulders, and cracked his neck. None of it helped relieve any of the pressure in his head. "No, these were going on before all that."

"Are the nightmares every night?"  
  
"No, not every night. Didn't have one last night."  
  
"Why is that do you suppose?"  
  
Ray grinned for the first time in the session. "I'm figuring it's probably because I didn't get much sleep."  
  
"You're smiling about that. Why?"  
  
"Yeah, well, that's because I was busy doing something better than sleeping."  
  
Collier always picked up fast. "I take it you and Constable Fraser enjoyed an intimate evening."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, we did. First time in a while."  
  
"Have you and your partner been having sexual difficulties?"

"No, not really, not anything serious." Ray swallowed hard. He'd talked about sex before, no reason to be shy or hedge, not with Collier. "Well, to be honest, I've sort of slowed down some the last few months."  
  
"Are you saying your sex drive has diminished?"  
  
"Yeah, a little. I dont sleep too good and I'm too tired or uptight most of the time to get romantic."

"That's not uncommon. Nightmares often affect one's natural sleep cycle and desires."  
  
"Yeah, but it's not fair to Fraser." Ray hated what he had to say next. "I mean, I can see how frustrated he gets. He tries to get me going and I'll just roll over and make excuses or pretend to go to sleep. I don't want to hurt him, but I just can't. I'm just not into it, you know? It's like I've got this man I love in my bed, but I'm not feeling sexy at all, like my dick just sort of took a vacation." Ray couldn't keep eye contact as he finished. "Sometimes I can hear him in the shower jerking off. When we first got together, I'd have joined him. Just the thought of him doing himself, well, it turns me on, but lately, it's just not happening below the belt, at least not very often."  
  
"Are you saying you've had trouble with impotence?"  
  
Ray's face grew warm and he answered in a hurry. "No, no, I'm not saying that. So far, so good in that department." He shrugged and looked down at his hands, not really comfortable with those laser-sharp eyes trained in his direction. "I can do it when I want to, I just don't seem to want to that much."  
  
Collier's voice didn't waver, didn't change at all despite the embarrassing topic of conversation. "What about last night? Did you feel sexy then?"  
  
Ray lifted his head and nodded. "Oh, yeah, last night everything worked great. It was good."  
  
"What was different?"  
  
"Different?"  
  
"Yes. I would think with all the extra stress from work, you might find arousal more difficult."  
  
Ray thought about the lead in to Fraser's seduction, to his great just go for it blow job on the couch. "Well, we'd just spent the evening with a friend, a guy Fraser works with, and his new boyfriend."  
  
"Did you enjoy that?"  
  
"Yeah. It was nice, well, at first anyway."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Fraser got it in his head that Renny's boyfriend, Pete, was making a play for me. He got jealous, which is weird, because he almost never does that, well, except with Stella, which is understandable."  
  
Collier studied him an extra moment before she asked, "How did that make you feel when you realized he was jealous?"  
  
God, the woman sure knew how to ask weird questions out of the blue. "I don't know."  
  
"I think you do, Ray."  
  
Ray sat up straighter at the challenge. "What? You think I get off on making Fraser jealous?"  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"No." 

"Are you sure about that?"

Ray took a couple of extra deep breaths as he considered the question carefully just to make sure he wasn't missing something important. When he was sure, he met her eyes and shook his head. "No, it wasn't like that. I don't get off on the jealousy. That wasn't it."  
  
"What was it then? What was it about the situation that made you not only have satisfying sexual relations but allowed you to sleep with no nightmares?"  
  
"Fraser trusted me enough to tell me, to show me that part of himself."  
  
"What part?"  
  
"The insecure part, the part that made him think he could lose me."  
  
"And that made you feel special?"  
  
"It made me feel good, yeah." Ray scrubbed his face with both hands before he explained further. "Fraser, I love him, you know, but he keeps a lot inside himself, even from me. Sometimes I think he even keeps stuff from himself, he's got it shoved down so deep. I mean, there's like layer after layer of Fraser. You peel one off and you've got a dozen more to get through to hit gold. Funny thing is, he's getting more together since he's started seeing Dr. Reese."  
  
"His counselor?"  
  
"Yeah, the guy I saw before you. Fraser likes his style. Reese makes him do all these stupid exercises, self-affirmations and journals, stuff I just can't get into. But it's right up Fraser's alley, I guess. It makes him feel better, stronger, more self-assured. So, I guess when he got jealous, it just reminded me that he's as human as I am."  
  
Collier frowned and turned in her seat to face Ray. "Does it bother you that Fraser seems to be gaining success from his therapy?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Ray "  
  
"You asked me, I'm telling you. I'm glad it works for him even though sometimes it makes him holier than thou, like he's got all the answers. It gets on my nerves sometimes."  
  
"You sound angry."  
  
"I'm not, at least not at Fraser."  
  
"Then with whom?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"You? Why are you angry with yourself?"

"Because I should be better by now, but I'm not." Ray fisted his right hand, his knuckles still oozing and raw.

Collier didn't miss it. "How did you hurt your hand?"  
  
"Hit a wall."  
  
"Do you know why you hit the wall?"  
  
"Because I couldn't punch out a Fed without pulling charges."  
  
"Any other reason?"  
  
Ray met her concerned eyes and confessed. "Because I couldn't punch myself, I guess. Stupid, huh?"  
  
Collier cleared her throat, obviously uneasy. "Ray, I have to ask this. Have you thought about harming yourself?"  
  
It didn't take a genius to get what she was really saying, what she was driving at. "You mean, have I thought about jumping off a bridge or stepping in front of a bullet?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You dont have to ask me that. I didn't come here for that."  
  
"I need you to answer."  
  
Ray's eyes narrowed, her words and cautious tone hitting like a solid right jab. She really thought he might off himself. Not that he hadnt thought about it, but still, he didn't think anyone would ever pick up on that, not with all his fancy dancing to hide it. "No, I'm not suicidal. I just don't like myself that much."  
  
"But you wouldn't harm yourself?"  
  
Faking one of his best smiles, Ray cocked his head. "Other than throw a few punches, no, not in this lifetime. Fraser would kill me."

"Glad to hear it."  
  
"What? You think it's a good thing he'd kill me for doing something stupid?"  
  
"No, I think it's good that you still have a sense of humor, dark though it might be."  
  
"That's me, dark and getting darker. I blame the system. It gives me plenty of stuff to work with. You don't laugh at this shit, you crack up." His smile faded. "I don't want to do that, lose it, go nuts, end up at the funny farm. I need to fix whatever's wrong with me."  
  
"What do you think that is?"  
  
"Fuck. If I knew that, I wouldn't be here."  
  
"Are you asking me for a diagnosis?"  
  
"You've already told me about the whole posty whatever."

"You mean, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"  
  
"Yeah, that. I stopped having flashbacks, but is what I'm feeling, the nightmares and sex stuff, is that part of this whole deal, too?"  
  
Collier nodded, her expression more serious than usual. "Considering your history, yes, quite likely. Plus, it would explain the depression."

"Depression? I'm not depressed." Ray fought hard to block out the image of Clay Biggs as the kid fell back with a hole in his chest, blood all over the place, everything spinning around and confused. Swallowing hard, Ray kept going, his voice growing louder and more desperate to make a point. "Sure, I get down sometimes, but what cop doesn't? It's a shitty world, a fucked up world, a world where moms beat their kids for the hell of it and men sell guns to kids who turn around and shoot cops. But I'm alive and I've got Fraser. What the fuck do I have to be depressed about?" He stopped yelling and sagged back in the chair. "Shit."  
  
"Why are you so angry?"  
  
"Beats me."  
  
"Ray, be honest. What are you thinking right now?"  
  
"Im fucked."  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"Because all I can think about is how I'm glad I've got a good aim."  
  
Dr. Collier paused as she considered the gravity of the words before she asked quietly, "Are you thinking about the boy you shot in self-defense?"  
  
"Yeah, but self-defense or not, he's still dead and gone, meeting his maker or visiting Canada. Take your pick."  
  
"Visiting Canada?"  
  
Ray sat us straighter, remembering he'd never mentioned his near death experience and Fraser's dad taking him on a walking tour of the Borderland. He figured now wasn't the time to start adding to the list of why Ray's such a whack job, either. He cleared his throat. "Just an expression. I live with a Mountie. I hear it's a paradise up there if you like snow and ice."

"Does Fraser talk about his home a lot?"  
  
Glad for a change of subject, Ray nodded. "Oh, sure. I know he's homesick. He talks about it a lot more now than he used to."  
  
"Is there any particular reason for that?"  
  
"I guess because he knows that I want to move there with him when this whole undercover deal is over."  
  
Her voice never changed, like she wasn't a bit surprised. "You're going to move there permanently?"  
  
"Fraser belongs there. Just take one look at him when he's there and you know it's a fact. It's his home and it's not a bad place. Besides, wherever he is, that's where I plan to be." Before Collier had a chance to comment and break his flow, Ray added, "In fact, we're going up there next week for a while. We've got a small place up in Yellowknife, the place we were before. I've got some time off and with this stuff going on at work, well, we decided to take our vacation early."  
  
"That sounds like a good idea. It might give you a chance to relax, maybe start working on your photography again."  
  
"Yeah, maybe."

Collier shifted in her seat and then took a few extra beats before she spoke. "Ray, about what I said earlier about the depression "  
  
"I'm not depressed, at least not enough to be talking like it's a big deal or something."  
  
Collier took another deep breath before she spoke, always a bad sign in Ray's book. "You've lost interest in things that gave you pleasure before, the boxing and the photography. You're fatigued and having trouble sleeping because of the nightmares. You still haven't gained back the weight you lost before, so I'm guessing your appetite is still lacking. You've got a reduced libido coupled with increased anxiety. You're also exhibiting some self-destructive tendencies like hitting the wall in frustration. Ray, taken as a whole, these might be strong indicators of depression."

Ray rubbed and then covered his mouth with his right hand. He hadn't even mentioned the drinking and figured he'd better keep that to himself considering she already had him pegged as some kind of head case in deep shit. She probably had a ticket to the looney bin with his name on it all punched and ready. Fuck. He gathered his wits and put his best face forward to repair some damage. "Look, okay, I see where you might think that, but it's not a problem, at least not something to worry about. I mean, I just need a vacation, a break, a little time to catch my wind, you know? I get away from this place for a few weeks and it'll be okay again."  
  
"Ray, let's be honest here. You've been suffering from what I consider to be clinical depression for close to six months and it's not abating. If anything, it appears to be worse than it was three months ago. I really think it's time that you might want to consider doing something in addition to the therapy." Her voice took on that calm, patronizing tone, the one that Fraser got sometimes when he tried to handle Ray when Ray had a bitchy mood at gale force going on. Ray liked Collier, but he hated when she pulled that shit as much as he hated when Fraser tried it. 

"First of all, I am not, let me repeat, not clinically depressed, whatever the fuck that means. I'm not going to eat my gun or throw myself under a bus because I get a little down sometimes. It's nothing to get worked up over."

Then she sucker punched him. "Do you trust me, Ray?"  
  
"Trust you?"  
  
"Yes. Do you think I'm a good therapist, that I know what I'm doing?"  
  
"Well, yeah, sure. This isn't about that. I just don't agree with what you're saying. I mean, I know where this is going. You want me to start taking some kind of pill, right?"

"Anti-depressants can help a great deal in situations like yours."  
  
Suddenly angry, Ray stood up, his voice hard and edgy. "Situations like mine? You mean there are tons of guys out there in my situation, guys who've been raped on the job, who take happy pills and feel great, feel all fine and dandy because they don't have to deal with thinking about shit anymore?"  
  
"I didn't say that. Im just suggesting that while Im glad you've decided to return to therapy, I think your progress might be aided with the use of an anti-depressant."  
  
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Ray paced several times and then shook his head. "I can't. I won't. I don't need that kind of shit." He ran a hand through his hair and swallowed back his panic. "I'll just have to work harder. I mean, I got lazy, slacked off. I can do this, make it better. I don't need to take a drug to do this."  
  
"Ray, why are you so resistant to taking an anti-depressant?"  
  
"I'm a cop."  
  
"Yes, I know. Why is that an issue?"  
  
Ray shook his head. How could this woman work with cops all day and not get it? "You put me on drugs, it goes in my jacket, puts a red flag up that I'm not stable, a real walking time bomb. I mean, sure, it's already flagged because of what happened and because I'm seeing a shrink, but the shrink thing, that's doable, that's something a lot of cops do if they've been on the job long enough. A guy's about to lose it, he sees somebody and learns how to handle things better. It's not a big deal like it used to be. But you put me on an anti-depressant, I could lose my job."  
  
"Ray, that's not true."

"It is true. I know four guys personally and a whole lot of others who had to either ride a desk or take disability or flat out quit because they got forced to take medication. That's not going to happen. I can do this without taking that shit."  
  
Collier held up a hand. "Calm down, Ray. No one's going to force you take something against your will. However, I would like you to consider it. Perhaps you could discuss it with Constable Fraser, get another viewpoint."  
  
"He'd side with you."  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
"Oh, yeah, I do. I see the way he looks at me, all worried like I'm going to do something stupid and get myself killed every time I head off to work and he's not with me."  
  
"Does he have reason to worry about that?"  
  
"Sure, but not because I'm depressed, but because I work in a world where kids have guns and scumbags think it's open season on cops." 

"I understand."  
  
Ray studied her face, passive, calm, very deceptive. Dr. Collier was suddenly a dangerous woman. He had to remember that. He wondered when the tide turned, when she suddenly couldn't be trusted anymore, when she started thinking like all the other head jockeys around. 

Ray glanced down at his watch, suddenly in a very big hurry to get the hell out of Dodge. "Look, thanks for seeing me, but I need to get back to work. Are we done here?"  
  
"In a minute. Sit down, please." Ray reluctantly obeyed, leaning forward, ready to leave as soon as she gave the word. "How long has it been since you've seen your regular doctor?"  
  
Ray frowned, not happy. He hadn't expected that question and sure as hell didn't like the turn of the conversation. He answered cautiously. "It's been about six months. Why?"  
  
"I'd like you to go get a physical before your next session."  
  
"Why? I'm not sick and I'm not due to go back for another six months unless my leg acts up."  
  
"I'd like to rule out any physical causes for your symptoms."  
  
Now she had him really worried. What if he really were sick, not just sick in the head, but really **sick** sick? "You think there might be something causing the headaches and other stuff besides me being stressed out?"

"There could be any number of reasons for what you're experiencing, Ray. You went through a great deal of trauma relatively recently. I'd just like you to go see him as a precaution. I can give you a referral for your insurance and call him if you'd like to discuss my concerns."  
  
"So, this isn't a trick?"  
  
"A trick?"  
  
"Yeah, something to get me in there so you can double team me into taking the anti-depressants."  
  
Collier sat back and smiled, her voice like honey, sweet, but a little too sticky. "I just want to make sure you're okay, Ray. We'll table the discussion of medication for the time being. I just want you to feel better."  
  
Ray knew she wasn't finished, knew she'd bring it up again like she had last time just before he quit. He figured he might as well give in on the physical, at least for now. He could always call and cancel later once he got out of her sight. "Okay, but I might not be able to get an appointment before I leave for Canada."  
  
"Don't worry about that. I'll give him a call. I'm sure he'll work you in before your vacation. I can even have my nurse set it up before you leave if you want."

Ray could swear she had to be related to Fraser sometimes, the way she handled things, got stuff done when everybody else got shoved to the back of the line. He shrugged in surrender and nodded. "Okay, I guess. I mean, I hate needles, but maybe he can find out something that'll save us both a lot of trouble. Maybe I just need vitamins or something."  
  
"Maybe." Ray knew from the way she said it, she didnt believe it for a minute. She stood up and extended a hand. "I'll see you next week, Ray. Call me if you need to talk to me sooner."  
  
Shaking her hand, he hoped he never had to do that, call her after one of his panics, let her know how screwed up he really was and give her more ammunition to use against him. He pulled out all the stops and put on a happy face. "I'm okay, Doc, well, as okay as I ever am these days. You worry too much."  
  
"It's the nature of the business, Ray."  
  
"Yeah, I guess. Sort of like cops."  
  
Collier tilted her head, obviously puzzled. "How so?"  
  
"Well, you see a guy and he leaves and you hope he'll be okay, right? But deep down you also know that chances are, he'll probably fuck up and end up right back in here. Same with me. I arrest a guy, charge him, and he goes to jail. I hope he learns his lesson, but odds are, I'll have to arrest his sorry ass again and again and again. So, you're sort of like me. Some people don't get it the first time. You patch people up and I throw people in jail to keep other people safe. Either way we end up dealing with the same stuff more than once most of the time."

"That's an interesting analogy, Ray. I never thought of it that way."  
  
"Well, that's me, the guy who goes from point A to B by way of Z most days. Drives Fraser crazy."

Collier smiled as she settled back behind her desk. "I'll bet."  
  
Ray headed to the door, not really listening, wondering how the hell he was going to hide going to the doctor from worrywart Fraser.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

BYGONES: THE TRILOGY Part Two  
LIFELINE: Chicago  
by Grey  
Grey853@aol.com

Part Two

Driving back, Ray counted thirteen bars and six liquor stores, all six with drive-thru windows. If a guy wanted a drink, it wouldn't be hard to get one. Still, he figured he'd wait, maybe go the whole day without a beer just to please Fraser. It'd be nice if at least one person he knew had a decent day.

At the station Ray saw Captain Turner in Welsh's office, pacing and saying something to his boss that Ray couldn't make out. Whatever it was, both men looked about ready to take somebody's head off. Ray hoped it wasn't his, even if his skull was about to split open.

 

Ray knocked on the door and Welsh called for him to enter. As soon as Ray was inside, Turner started in. "I warned you to stay away from this case and to watch your ass."

Suddenly defensive and tired of taking shit at every turn, Ray snapped back, "I did, sir. It's not my fault the kid didn't get the memo and showed up on my doorstep."

"I'm not talking about that."

Ray frowned and glanced over to Welsh for a hint. Welsh just shrugged and shook his head with a noncommittal, don't look at me look.

Turner cleared his throat, something he usually only did when he was about to fire somebody or put the cuffs on. "Lieutenant, would you give me a few minutes with Ray here? I think we need to get some things straightened out."

"Certainly, Captain." Welsh got up, walked around the desk, but didn't leave before patting Ray's shoulder, which made matters worse. Welsh being so supportive in front of the Captain could only mean trouble, a whole boatload of nothing good.

Ray sat down on the sofa and crossed his arms. Whatever Turner wanted to bitch about, he didn't want to risk letting the guy see him shake apart. He put on his best tough face and kept his voice hard and steady. "What's going on, Captain?"

Turner first closed the blinds to the squad room to cut off the view. Then he paced twice before he came back and leaned his butt back against the desk. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm the boss here."

"I know that."

"So you know who's in charge, right?"

"Sure thing, sir. That it?"

"Hell, no, that's not it. I just wanted to make sure you still remembered that for the moment I'm the only guy standing between you and the Feds."

Captain Turner got pissed on occasion, but Ray couldn't remember seeing his boss so concerned and mad at the same time before. "Sir, what's going on?"

"A couple of things. First, I wish you hadn't run that search on Silverman without checking in with me first."

"Why? It's SOP when we get a lead."

Turner got a little red in the face, his voice strained and getting louder. "You're not supposed to be doing anything on the Warner case, nothing. Nothing means no interviewing witnesses, no doing your own little investigation and checking leads, nothing. Do I make myself clear?"

Ray pulled back from the bark and avoided meeting Turner's challenging glare. "Do nothing, sir, got it."

"Apparently not, since now you're insisting that we keep the Jones boy in protective custody even though he's part of the Warner case."

Hopeful, Ray's head came up with a jerk. "And we're going to do that, right, sir?"

"No."

"No? Why not? Didn't Welsh explain —"

"He told me your argument. I agree that if Jones were our only witness, he'd be a target. As it is, he's not."

"He's not? Who else we got?"

"Ray, it's not your case."

"You can't shut me out like this, Captain. I'm in too deep. It's my ass on the line here, too. Who else knows about Silverman as a suspect in the murder?"

Turner reluctantly surrendered and pinched the bridge of his nose as he explained. "Apparently, Detective Cody knew about him. He told the Feds and they picked Silverman up this morning. They're trying to use the info we have on Warner's murder to force Silverman to give evidence on O'Malley."

Ray sat back, stunned. "You're saying Cody knew about Silverman, but didn't tell me?"

"Yeah. Don’t feel so special. He didn't tell me, either."

"That son of a bitch." The anger welled up and spilled over. "And the Feds, those assholes, are going to let Silverman skate on a murder wrap to get O'Malley for guns?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"Complicated? How could it get more complicated?"

"When you ran the check on Silverman, the Feds found out and so did O'Malley. It puts your name right back at the top of the hit list."

Ray sat forward, wound up again, trying to figure out the puzzle. "How the fuck would O'Malley find out about the check unless —"

"Unless he's got a man on the inside of the investigation."

"Fuck, that's crazy."

"Crenshaw, the lead on the Fed team, he knows they've got a mole. They're trying like hell to find out who he is. Everything they've managed to get on the gun operation has been leaked to O'Malley over the last six months so he can cover his tracks."

Ray shook his head, his eyes closed, things clicking into place. "Jesus, please don't tell me the Feds have a man undercover with O'Malley, too."

"Afraid so. That's how they know that O'Malley's made comments about you becoming a problem. That's why the Feds have you under surveillance."

"And it's got nothing to do with them wanting to be there to catch the asshole if he makes a move to take me out?"

"Well, there's that, too." Turner stood up and paced a few more times. "You go down, it fucks up not only this case, but the Vecchio thing, too."

"You can't put that on me, sir. This shit is not my fault."

"I didn't say it was your fault, Ray. It's not. The problem is, the Feds fucked up and put us right in the middle of it. That's why it would've been nice if you'd told me about you and Fraser before I got blindsided by some federal wiseass."

Ray hugged himself a little harder. No way did he want to have this conversation today, no fucking way. Still, Turner stood there staring and waiting for an answer. "What'd he say about me and Fraser?"

"Is it true that you and the Mountie are still living together?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Yeah, so? Is that all you've got to say? I mean, I knew he moved in when you got out of the hospital, but that was a long time ago. I didn't know he fucking stayed."

"You didn't ask. Besides, it's nobody's business."

Turner's face went red again. "You're an undercover officer under my command, Kowalski. Every fucking thing you do is my business until this assignment is over. You see a shrink, I know about it. You change your damn hair gel, I get a report. You shack up with a Mountie and turn queer, I damn well should know about it before the fucking Feds do. Damn it, Ray, you should've told me."

"Yeah? And what if I had? What would you have said?"

"I would've said, Vecchio isn't gay. That means that as long as you're wearing his name, you're supposed to at least pretend to be straight and not act like some fag. I mean, you were married for what, over fifteen years? I can't fucking believe this."

Ray chewed on his inner right cheek for a few seconds, ignoring the cutting comments. He'd heard worse and would probably hear a whole lot more if he and Fraser ever came out to the world. Instead, he focused on something more important than caring about what his captain thought about his switching teams. "You saying Fraser has to move out?"

"That's what I'm saying." Turner eased up some, going for the honey versus the vinegar approach, trying hard to be persuasive. "It's for the best. It's not just me, Ray. It's the Feds, too. My god, you're in the middle of not one, but two major cases, both with federal connections. This isn't just about you and who you decide to fuck."

Steeling himself for the fight, Ray shook his head, his voice so calm and collected that he scared himself a little. "Fraser's not moving out. Not going to happen."

"Ray —"

"Save your breath, sir. Fraser and I are together, period, no argument. No way he's moving out. You and the Feds don't like it, then go yank Vecchio out from under and shut down the assignment. Go ahead. Do me a fucking favor and let me get my life back."

Turner frowned, his eyes narrowed and his voice tight. "You'd actually quit over this, risk Vecchio, risk yourself, and take a chance of everybody finding out you're gay?"

"I could give a shit what they find out or what they fucking think, sir." Ray leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, a hammer and chisel chipping away inside his skull. The anger drained away and his voice softened. He reached inside the top edge of his shirt and pulled out his wedding band on the gold chain. He fingered it and then fisted his hand tightly around it. "I've lost one marriage because of the job. I'm not losing another."

"Come on, Ray. Don't tell me this shit. Sleeping with another guy, even a good-looking guy like the Mountie, how can you sit there and compare it to a real marriage?"

"Partnership, marriage. Call it whatever you want. I'm with Fraser forever. Deal with it or not. That's just the way it is."

"I don't fucking believe this."

"Believe it."

Both men remained silent and in a standoff, the clock at the back of the office ticked and mixed in with the whirr of the fan. Office sounds filtered through the glass window, Frannie fussing with Dewey, perps arguing about civil rights and suing the system. None of that mattered to Ray. All he thought about was that it was out there, the truth, his life with Fraser held up to the light. Ray waited, daring Turner to shut down the case, almost hoping he did. Turner spoke first. "I can't change your mind about this?"

"No."

Turner shook his head in frustration and reluctant acceptance. "Welsh warned me you'd say that."

"Smart man." After another moment of silence, Ray added, "So what now? You want me to pack up and debrief or what?"

"I want you to keep your eyes sharp and start wearing a vest. I'll run interference with the Feds. They don't want to pull Vecchio right now. As for the Warner case, leave it alone. The Jones kid will be okay. The Feds don't need him and as far as Silverman knows, it's Cody who fingered him."

"I'm still not sure about that, sir. O'Malley might want to make sure."

"It's out of your hands, Ray. Leave it alone."

"And if something happens to the kid?"

"Then it's on me. Forget about it and worry about yourself. I guess if you can put up with the flack about Fraser, that's your business."

"Thanks, sir."

"Don't thank me. I'm not doing you any favors." Turner scratched his head. "I won't say I understand it, but I guess I won't condemn it either. I've been on the job too long not to know that guys can sometimes fall for the most unlikely people. I knew this one guy once who… well, never mind. That's not important. Fraser's okay, a nice guy, even if he is a Canadian. You're taking a big risk here. I just hope it works out."

"It will, sir." Ray didn't add that it had to, that without Fraser, he didn't see himself hanging around bothering to suck air for much longer.

Turner held out a hand. "Good luck, Ray."

Standing up, Ray tucked the gold band back under his shirt before shaking hands. "Thanks."

"Okay, then, I guess I should head out and get to work. I've got some reports to write and then I'm going to take another crack at the Feds and see if Crenshaw has any more leads on who the mole might be."

Ray cleared his throat, figuring he'd better say something that bothered him before his Captain took off. "Sir?"

"What?"

"Does anybody but Crenshaw know who the undercover guy is with O'Malley?"

"Probably. Crenshaw might be the lead on this investigation, but there are others above him who call the shots. Why?"

"Well, if the Feds have a spy spying on them, what's going to keep that spy from telling O'Malley who the Fed spy is?"

"Good question."

"Well, here's another. What happens when O'Malley finds out that Cody is the witness against his man Silverman?"

Turner shook his head, his face grim. "We both know the answer to that, Ray. He's a dead man unless we can stop O'Malley first."

"Does Cody know that?"

"I didn't pick him for the job because he was stupid, Ray. He's still with the Feds in protective custody, so for now he's safe. For all our sakes, we just have to hope we can get enough on O'Malley to put him away for good this time. Otherwise, well…" Turner didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to.

As Turner walked out, Ray bit his lower lip and wondered how many damn bodies might turn up before this whole mess ended. He sagged back down on Welsh's couch and closed his eyes, grateful that at least he'd won his round about living with Fraser. He might end up with a bullet in his head, but for now at least he had Fraser to care one way or the other. Somehow that saved Ray the trouble of worrying if any of it even mattered.

Fraser stacked the last of the reservation confirmation folders for the Spanish delegation on his desk, grateful for an end to that particularly arduous stage of planning. Hours on the phone, speaking a combination of Spanish and English, tended to grow tiresome after the first hour. A full day of it, well, he wanted nothing more than to go home and listen to the details of Ray's day instead. Fraser stood up and reached for his hat when Turnbull knocked on his office door. "Sir?"

"Turnbull, is there something else?"

"Not officially, sir. I believe we've completed our objectives for the day."

"Then I take it you need to discuss something of a personal nature?"

"Well, sir, I haven't really had a chance to thank you for your company last night. It meant a lot to me that you and Ray came to our housewarming barbecue."

"The pleasure was ours, Turnbull. You and Peter are fine hosts."

"Thank you, sir, that's kind of you to say. However, I have to confess, I was a little concerned that you might not have enjoyed the visit."

"What gave you that idea?"

"Well, I couldn't help but notice a bit of tension between you and Ray, sir." Turnbull hurriedly added, "I know it's none of my business, but I just hope it had nothing to do with Peter's behavior."

Frowning, Fraser considered confessing his own complaints on that matter, but decided against it. Instead, he feigned ignorance. "What behavior would that be?"

"Well, he mentioned that he'd given Ray a beer while they were in his workshop. I should've warned him that Ray shouldn't be drinking."

Caught off guard, Fraser tried to remember if he'd ever confided such a thing to Turnbull. He was sure he hadn't. "What makes you say that?"

"During his convalescence, Ray and I were enjoying hockey one afternoon while you were walking Diefenbaker. He complained that most of the commercial ads were for beer and that he missed drinking while he watched the games. When I asked him about it, he explained that he'd stopped drinking because he got stupid when he got loaded. His words, sir, not mine. He didn't say anything further, so I just assumed, well, I assumed he was in recovery." Turnbull stepped closer, his voice lower and more confidential. "Let me just say here, I'm not trying to be judgmental or stick my nose in, sir. It's just I care about Ray and I have a rather long and unfortunate association with alcohol addiction."

Fraser stared at the man in front of him like he was a stranger. "I don't understand."

"My father was, well, actually is, an alcoholic. So was my mother before she passed. I grew up around it. It's one of the reasons I don't indulge. Firstly, the predisposition tends to be genetic, and secondly, I've seen firsthand the devastation such an addiction causes."

Fraser stood there, stunned, not quite sure what to say. He kept it simple. "I'm sorry, Turnbull. I had no idea."

Turnbull shrugged. "Understood, sir. There's no reason that you might have known. I rarely mention it. It's not something I feel very comfortable discussing. At any rate, I'm telling you now, because I wanted you to know that I'm sorry if Peter inadvertently caused a problem."

"Ray could have said no. He chose not to."

"Ah."

"Ah, indeed."

"I understand, sir. That explains the tension, or at least part of it."

"Part of it?"

"Well, sir, Peter was rather overt in his appreciation of Ray's company." Turnbull sighed. "I'm afraid we had a bit of a tiff afterwards. I fear my own jealousy might be the end of us if I don't learn a little more self-restraint. I know full well that Ray would never reciprocate or do anything untoward in regard to Peter."

His friend's confession prompted Fraser to hint at his own story. "Jealousy is an extremely difficult emotion with which to contend. I find myself wrestling with it on occasion as well."

"Peter says it's my own insecurity and I'm sure he's right about that. Even now I sometimes can't believe he's interested in me, not when there are so many others far better suited to his needs than I am."

Fraser turned and patted Turnbull on his back for reassurance. "You sell yourself short, Turnbull. Peter's a very lucky man to have you."

"You really think so, sir?"

"Indeed, I do."

"Thank you, sir. That means a lot. I'm sure the longer Peter and I stay together, the more secure I'll feel. My past relationships, well, to put it rather bluntly, have been disastrous. Peter understands that and has promised to be patient with me."

Perversely, Fraser thought about Peter's infidelity with annoyance. "Frankly, Turnbull, I think he should be grateful you've stayed with him after he failed to be faithful early in your relationship."

"Perhaps, but Peter has his own issues and I accept that. He's promised me to be committed from now on. I'm just hoping that with time, we will build the life we both hope to have together."

"Not an easy task for any couple. I wish you the best."

"The same to you, too, sir. Which brings me back to Ray. Is he all right?"

"You saw him last night, Turnbull. He's fine." Fraser rubbed his eyebrow, wishing he had a better answer, one that didn't grab at his throat when he said it.

"That's good then. I just wanted to be sure. Please tell him we enjoyed his company."

"I will. Thank you." Fraser glanced over at the clock, realizing he needed to hurry to be home on time like he promised. He motioned toward Diefenbaker to follow. "Ray and I have plans tonight, so I really should be leaving."

"Certainly, sir. I didn't mean to detain you."

Instead of his usual impatience, Fraser shook his head, grateful for Turnbull's friendly ear. "It's all right. Actually, I'm rather glad we spoke."

"Me, too, sir." Turnbull paused, a finger to his lips as he thoughtfully considered his words. "You know it's odd."

"What?"

"I probably shouldn't say this, but it just seems to me that whenever the Inspector isn't here, we make a very satisfying and efficient working unit."

"Yes, I've noticed that myself."

Turnbull leaned over and whispered even though they were the only ones present except for the wolf. "She just makes me so nervous."

"Yes, well, she can certainly be rather daunting at times."

"Daunting, yes. I’m not quite sure why, but I believe in my case it's because she reminds me of my maternal Aunt Lucinda." Turnbull stood up straight, his face red, and his hands clasped behind his back. "I could never please her."

"That would certainly seem to be a natural comparison then."

"Very true." Turnbull shook himself all over as if fighting off a bad memory. "Good night, sir. Enjoy yourself."

"You do the same."

"Right you are, sir."

Turnbull left his office and Diefenbaker padded up next to Fraser. He yipped and then stared at the door. "Yes, I know. I never once imagined we'd be friends and confidantes, either." Fraser reached down and petted his companion. "Come on. Let's go home to Ray."

Ray lay in the dark, naked beneath the sheet, his head stuffed under a pillow. He wanted to just sleep, no noise, no light, no dreams. Nothing worked. His mind kept spinning, turning over the events of the day, his fears for Martin Jones, for himself, for the undercover cop spying on O'Malley. Sure, O'Malley wasn't the fucked up bastard Clooney was, but Ray had no doubt that he'd kill the cop if the guy's cover got blown.

Ray shuddered and gripped the edges of the pillow, pulling it down harder against his face, the air thinning. He flashed on nearly drowning on the ship, the same raw burn filling his lungs. Seconds later, he threw the pillow off and turned over on his side, drawing his knees up. No way did he want to ever check out that way, smothered or drowned. They both sucked and took way too long to get the job done. Dying needed to be quick, no time to panic. When his ticket got punched, he didn't even want to see it coming.

Disturbed by his own thoughts, Ray squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the urge to cry again. He didn't want Fraser to come home and find him like this, messed up and acting like a big baby. He needed to pull himself together, get his head on straight. It didn't matter that he'd been trying for months now and still felt like shit. He had to keep at it. Fraser deserved better, needed more than to be dragged down at every turn by Ray's failure.

Ray bit his lower lip as he heard Fraser open the door and enter the apartment, mumbling to Dief. "I know it's hot. It's Chicago, not the Yukon. I don't control the weather. You should have surmised that by now."

Ray smiled weakly as he heard the disgruntled woofing sound as Dief complained anyway. He hoped someday to speak wolf as well as Fraser did, but right now learning wolf was the least of his worries. He frowned again and took a deep breath, steeling himself. He didn't want to spoil the evening for Fraser. He'd promised to make it a good night and he meant it.

Fraser walked into the dark bedroom, frowning. "Ray?"

"I'm fine, Fraser. I took off a couple of hours early. Just trying to rest up a little."

Keeping the light off, Fraser moved to the edge of the bed and sat down. His hand rested on Ray's hip. "We don't have to go out tonight, Ray. We can stay in if you're tired."

Ray sighed deeply and then took Fraser's hand. The heat from the day still lingered on his skin, the uniform way too warm to be comfortable. "I promised you a night out, so that's what you're getting."

"We can go another night."

"I've already got the reservations at Roberto's for seven, so we're goin'."

Fraser smiled in approval. "It's been a while since we've gone there."

"I know you've got a thing for Italian, so I had Tommy book us a table."

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble. Roberto's is quite popular and it is rather short notice."

"It's okay. Tommy doesn't mind making room." Ray didn't add that Tommy had a huge crush on the Mountie and was more than happy to help out. Instead, he suggested, "Why don't you get out of that sweat suit and take a shower?"

Fraser nodded, leaned over and kissed the side of Ray's face. He pulled back, unhappy. "Ray, you've been crying."

"That's sweat."

"I think I know the difference between tears and sweat, Ray. What happened?"

Sighing deeply in resignation, Ray closed his eyes. "It's just a really bad day, that's all. I'm okay. I just want to go out and have a good time, forget about stuff for a while. Can we do that, please, just go out without playing another round of the what the fuck's wrong with Ray game?"

Fraser squeezed his hand, but didn't get up or get defensive. Instead, he simply asked, "Have you eaten anything today?"

Grateful to miss the inquisition, Ray shrugged. "I skipped lunch to see Collier, but I did eat a couple of Snickers."

"Ray —"

"I know, I know, too much sugar, not enough good stuff. Doesn't matter. Roberto's will make up for it. I plan to make a big pig out of myself."

Fraser didn't say anything right away. Ray could see him weighing his choices. Finally, he nodded and stood up. "I'll shower. Should I wear my uniform tonight?"

"Why don't you wear that white linen shirt with the tan pants? It's a great look and it'll be cooler."

"I fear Tommy will be disappointed. He seems rather partial to the uniform."

Ray chuckled, his darker mood a little less gloomy. Fraser always made things better. "I didn't think you noticed that."

"I'd be a poor observer if I hadn't."

"Well, let him get his own Mountie. You're taken."

"Indeed I am, Ray."

As Fraser left to shower, Ray curled up a little tighter and closed his eyes. Any other time, he'd probably join his partner, soap him up and get them both off before they even left for dinner. Now, all he wanted to do was just get through the night without doing something incredibly stupid.

Ray fiddled with the silverware as they waited for their dinners. After a few moments, Ray leaned in, keeping his voice down. "I didn't remember it being this bad."

"What?"

"I can't believe you don't even see it."

"See what, Ray?"

"How everybody's staring at you, not that I blame them. You look really good tonight, Fraser."

The slight flush pinked Fraser's cheeks, but he smiled. "Thank you kindly, Ray. You look very nice yourself. I've always been partial to that blue shirt."

"You should be. You bought it."

"That explains it then." Fraser spoke more softly. "It complements your eyes."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yes."

"And you like that, huh?"

"Indeed."

Ray didn't get a chance to say anything else as the waiter brought the food, spaghetti and marinara for Fraser, ravioli for Ray, salads for both. Leave it to Fraser to order something with tomato sauce when he wore white linen and have nothing to fear. The guy never missed a drop, unlike Ray who pretty much needed a bib and spot cleaner no matter what.

Fraser dug in with a hearty appetite, something Ray loved to watch. In fact, Fraser had several bites before he glanced up and grinned with embarrassment. "I was hungry."

"I can see that. You skip lunch?"

"No, actually I had a peanut butter sandwich and an apple, but I must confess that it didn't seem to completely satisfy me. It's odd. You'd think with less physical activity, I'd be less hungry."

"That brain of yours burns a lot of calories."

"So it would seem."

Fraser motioned towards Ray's food. "Eat, Ray. It'll get cold."

Despite the knot in his belly, Ray started in. Normally one of his favorite dishes, the ravioli tasted flat and dull on his tongue. All around him people sipped red wine with their meals, while he got stuck with iced tea instead. Brisk and lemony just didn't cut it, didn't hit the spot, not even close. If anything, it made him more edgy, more resentful that he had to miss out. He wiped his mouth and sat back.

"The meal's not to your liking tonight, Ray?"

"It's fine. I'm just not that hungry."

"Ray —"

"Don't worry. We'll wrap it up and take it home for later." Ray waved a hand at Fraser's dish. "Go ahead. Make me proud. Pig out."

Reluctantly, Fraser returned to his meal, but not with the same fervor as before. After a few moments, he stopped. "Ray, did something happen at work today?"

"I don't want to talk about work tonight."

"Understood." After another brief pause, Fraser tried again. "What about your session with Dr. Collier? Did that go well?"

Ray shook his head, knowing Fraser just wanted to have a conversation, not grill him. Still, irritation made his voice sharper than he liked. "I don't want to talk about that, either." Before Fraser asked him something else, Ray stood up. "I'm going to the can."

Just his luck, Roberto's restrooms were behind the bar. Ray got a good whiff of the booze, a mix of beer, wine, and scotch, enough to make his head swim. He wiped his face with one hand and kept walking. Once in the john, he didn't bother to relieve himself. Instead, he went straight to the sink and splashed his face with cold water, his hands shaking. Saying no and staying sober was no fucking walk in the park, never had been. Still, he'd done it before. He could do it again without falling apart.

Arms extended, hands on the sink, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He worked hard for six months and stayed clean, but now his whole body screamed just to have a beer, one drink, something to take the hard edge off his life. Of course, one drink wouldn't do it, but it might at least keep him from busting a gut and going nuts.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?"

Ray stood up and saw the stranger staring at him. White, six foot, one hundred sixty pounds, around thirty, the guy had no distinguishing features. Even on his off time, Ray thought like a cop. Jesus. "Yeah. No problem."

"You don't look so good." The guy motioned to the door, trying his best to be helpful. "You want me to call somebody or something?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine. Must've been a bad clam or something."

Unconvinced, the guy nodded nervously. "Sure, a bad clam. Happens all the time." The guy just stood there staring, not moving over to the urinals even though he had one hand on his fly.

Ray gave him a break and took off back to the table, back to Fraser. Once he settled down in his chair, Fraser leaned in. "Do you want to go home, Ray?"

"Finish your dinner." He reached over and drank down the rest of his tea, his dry mouth like a desert.

Instead of eating, Fraser shook his head. "I think we should go."

"You're not done yet."

"We'll get the rest to go."

Reluctantly, Ray nodded. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

Ray signaled the waiter, got the go boxes, and settled the bill. Tommy walked over, concerned at their early departure. "You didn't like the food, Ray?"

"It was great, Tommy. Our eyes were bigger than our bellies, that's all."

Tommy glanced to Ray first and then to Fraser. His usual flirty glances didn't make a show. "You're sure?"

Fraser answered reassuringly. "It was delicious, Tommy. Thank you. Give my compliments to the chef. We just want to make an early evening of it. We both have work in the morning."

Tommy's smile returned. "You should come on the weekends then. We're always busy, but I'd be sure to make room."

Fraser put his hand on Tommy's shoulder. "We appreciate that, Tommy."

Ray shook his head and turned to leave. Tommy would probably jerk off later dreaming about Fraser touching him, all cozy and friendly, that megawatt smile better than any XXX, dark-alley peepshow. Sometimes Fraser didn't see the affect he had on people. Or maybe he did and used it. Sometimes it was hard to tell what Fraser knew and what he didn't know.

Walking out to the car, they didn't speak. Out of the corner of his eye, Ray spotted the FBI team. "Maybe we should show some mercy and give those guys the doggie bags. Lousy stakeout, watching us go out and eat and they're probably guzzling bad coffee and stale sandwiches."

"It's part of their job, and as for giving them the leftovers, Diefenbaker might disagree."

"Yeah, but you know what tomato sauce does to his system. You feed him that stuff, you can clean up the mess and air the place out."

Ray unlocked the passenger side of the car first and then got in behind the wheel. The stifling heat inside made him queasy. He started the engine, but before he engaged the gear, Fraser reached over to cover his right hand with his own. "How did you hurt yourself, Ray?"

"I was wondering how long it would take to ask."

"I was wondering if you were ever going tell me without prompting."

"You broke first."

"Which I accept. What happened?"

"Nothing. It was stupid. I just got wound up and slugged Welsh's wall."

"I see."

Ray turned his head, suddenly angry. "You see what, that I'm losing it, that I need my head examined for doing stupid shit?"

Fraser removed his hand from Ray's, but kept his voice amazingly even. "I only meant that you must have been frustrated."

"Come on, Fraser, you can do better than that. Where's all the psycho mumbo jumbo about misplaced aggression and shit?"

"Displaced aggression, and I hardly have to say anything since you already know the term."

"Yeah, well, you don't know all the shit that's going on, so you've got no room to talk."

His voice eerily calm, Fraser turned sideways in the seat. "Why are you yelling at me?"

"I'm not yelling at you."

"Yes, you are. You're yelling at me. Tell me what I've done to make you so angry."

Ray banged his head on the steering wheel twice, the closest he could come to smacking himself a good one. He took a long, deep breath to control his temper. "It's not you. It's not. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry."

Palming Ray's shoulder, Fraser asked again, "What happened at work today, Ray? What's this about?"

So Ray spilled it all, told him the whole hairy story about Martin Jones and Cody and how they all might be targets because of Silverman, the spies within spies tale, the whole coming out thing with Turner. Fraser listened until he finished and then nodded with sympathy. "I can see why you'd be upset."

Hell, he hadn't even told him about Collier. "Yeah?"

"Yes, it would seem to be quite complicated."

"Yeah, that's what Turner said."

"Ray, do you really think they might make us live apart again?"

Meeting Fraser's frightened eyes, Ray shook his head. "They can try, but it's not going to happen."

"But if it puts your job in danger —"

"A job's just a job, Fraser. Right now I'm tempted to just chuck it and say to hell with the whole mess. If it weren't for protecting Vecchio, I'd be gone already."

Fraser frowned and got those little wrinkles on his forehead. "What are you saying, Ray? Are you really going to resign after the undercover assignment is over?"

"Depends on you."

"How so?"

"When this is over, and I mean Vecchio's back safe and sound, I want you to see if those numbskulls up in Canada will let you go home. If they do, then I'm coming with you. If they don't, well, I might still be a cop, or I might just quit and do something else. I don’t know. All I do know is that I'm tired of all this shit, Fraser. I'm done with being the patsy, the chump, the guy they hang out as bait when they want to catch the big fish."

"Is that what you think they're doing now, using you for bait to get O'Malley?"

"Pretty much, yeah. That watchdog team behind us isn't there just for protection."

Fraser didn't speak right away, but then nodded. "I was afraid of that. I thought I might be overreacting, but I have to agree with your assessment. I think it might be prudent to leave the city even sooner than next week."

"But you have to wait until Thatcher gets back."

"Not necessarily. I could leave Turnbull in charge until Monday."

Ray grinned. "Are you kidding? The ice queen would have a cow."

"I doubt seriously she'd have a bovine, Ray, but she certainly wouldn't be pleased. However, she'd be mistaken to believe that Constable Turnbull wouldn't be up for the task. He's shown me during the last few weeks that when given the opportunity to display his talents and training without constant intimidation, he can do the task with unexpected skill."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I've underestimated Turnbull on more than one occasion. That won't happen again."

"Still, she's going to be pissed if you take off."

"That's not important, Ray. The conference won't start until next weekend and she'll have returned by then. I have more than enough accumulated leave time and if you think we should go sooner than next week, then we'll leave."

"You'd do that for me, risk the wrath of Thatcher and a bad review and just take off."

Fraser cocked his head in amusement. "I've had bad reviews before, Ray. If you'll remember, that's why I'm in Chicago."

"Right, right, the whole banished to the civilized world thing."

"Canada's civilized."

"It's another world, Fraser. Admit it."

"I won't."

"It's like Venus or Mars or something."

"It's the most beautiful place in the world, Ray. Venus and Mars should be so lucky."

Ray relaxed, soaking up all the good humor Fraser could spare. "That's because you're prejudiced. You think the sun rises and shines with anything Canadian."

"I hardly think that my nationalism is in question, Ray." Fraser's eyes twinkled, something that Ray loved to see. "Besides, I do believe you mentioned you wanted to move there."

"Yeah, I sort of did. I guess you've got me."

Fraser leaned over, his mouth to Ray's ear. "I surely do, Ray." Then he licked and kissed his cheek, his hand capturing Ray's neck, his thumb rubbing and teasing the nape. "Let's go home."

Just the way he touched him and said home, all husky like that, made Ray shiver. He nodded and without speaking, pulled out into the street and didn't give a shit if the Feds got an eyeful and couldn't keep up. All he wanted was to be alone with Fraser, to show him how much he needed and wanted the man beside him no matter what the cost.

"Why don't you go on to bed? I'll walk Diefenbaker."

Frustrated, Ray wanted to jump Fraser right then and there, not wait until Dief had his nightly constitution. Jeez. "We need a damn doggie door."

Fraser shook his head as he put the leftovers in the refrigerator, apparently thinking better of cleaning up wolfie puke at three in the morning. "A doggie door wouldn't be very practical, Ray. It would have to be extra large, which would completely negate any form of security. In addition, we live on the third floor and there's the leash law to consider."

Ray snorted. "Like you ever use a leash."

"That's true, but I don't let him run wild, either." Fraser stepped closer, pecking Ray on the cheek. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Totally unsatisfied, Ray fussed at the wolf. "Hurry up and get busy. I've got plans for your buddy here." Ray pulled Fraser into a big hug and planted a real kiss on his mouth, his tongue suddenly eager and ready. When he pulled back, bright and shiny Fraser eyes stared at him with that starved look that went straight to Ray's dick.

Fraser licked his lower lip, his hungry eyes still trained on Ray. "Perhaps Diefenbaker can wait a while longer."

Ray pushed him away with a laugh. "I don't want to get started and have to stop. Just take him out and get back here. No playing around chasing sticks or scumbags in the park."

"Right you are, Ray." Fraser turned his attention back to the wolf with more than a little newfound motivation. "Come along, Diefenbaker. No lollygagging."

As soon as they left, Ray hit the shower. He knew Fraser liked him a little sniff-worthy but he also knew Fraser got off on his new herbal shampoo, too. He turned on the water, not too hot, and stripped off. Climbing in, he enjoyed the massaging force of the newly installed showerhead. Fraser put it in a few months ago, telling Ray that its therapeutic potential outweighed the expense. Considering the guy grew up with an outhouse, he'd come a long way when it came to falling for the sweet addiction to modern plumbing.

Ray soaped up quickly and rinsed off. Then he shampooed his hair, his eyes closed, blanking out his mind to anything but thoughts of Fraser, his really tight ass, his large hands stroking Ray's dick, his talented tongue, the way his mouth mapped out all the right places over Ray's body. Already hard, Ray refused the temptation to stroke himself to get off. He'd leave that to Fraser.

Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed a towel and dried off. He rubbed his hair, but didn't bother to spike it up. As much as Fraser liked his aggressive 'do during the day, he loved petting it when it was soft so much better.

Glancing in the mirror, Ray halted, noting the tension in his face, the dark circles. He avoided paying attention to the scars that laced his chest, but did finger the thin puckered line across his throat. He swallowed hard, his eyes suddenly squeezed shut as he flashed on the pain of that cut, the tip of the knife that sliced his skin months ago. Suddenly dizzy, Ray reached out and steadied himself against the wall. He waited for the vertigo to pass before he sagged down on the closed lid of the toilet. Head in hands, he fought down the growing panic, the rise of bile in his throat. He didn't have time for this shit, this stupid rerun of Clooney and what he did. He needed to pull the plug, be done with it, game over.

Ray took a deep breath and got up. Still naked and damp from the shower, he made his way to the bedroom. Leave it to Fraser to make the bed before they left for dinner. Ray pulled back the cover and top sheet, crawling under. Curling on his side, he wrapped up. It might be summer outside, but he shivered in the cool humidity of the apartment. He wished Fraser would hurry back, the sooner the better.

His arousal gone, Ray waited impatiently, shutting his eyes, praying that he could make it until next week without falling completely apart. He needed the distance of Canada, the safety of their cabin, a break from all the shit piling up. Most of all, he needed Fraser, his lifeline, the guy that kept him caring enough to keep trying when it'd be a hell of a lot easier just to lie down and quit, show over, no more fucked up Kowalski.

Fraser watched impatiently as Diefenbaker played in the park, dancing and digging around in a flowerbed, taking his time as usual. Selfish wolf. While he enjoyed the animal's companionship, sometimes he tired of the obligation and responsibility it required while in the city. In Canada, he could let Diefenbaker out and not worry, let him roam and enjoy the freedom of the woods. Here he had to keep a watchful eye, more for the wolf's safety than for the people in the park. Plus, he often experienced great guilt that a half arctic wolf lived like some pet cooped up in an office or apartment all day. Fraser could certainly relate to the claustrophobic tension that came from sitting bound to a desk doing paperwork that made his brain ache and his body yearn to be back home again.

Home. Canada. Good God, how he missed it sometimes.

Fraser wondered if Diefenbaker ever got homesick. If he did, he never mentioned it.

"Constable?"

Fraser turned to find Turner standing behind him, his face grim. He fought down the quick panic of seeing Ray's commanding officer outside the station. It set off all kinds of alarms and put Fraser on high alert. "Captain, is something wrong?"

"That's why I'm here." Turner motioned to the nearby bench. They both sat, Turner taking his time, obviously uneasy. He cleared his throat. "Look, I guess Ray told you about this afternoon."

"He did mention that you weren't happy that we were cohabitating, yes."

"Cohabitating, huh? Is that what they call it these days?"

Fraser ignored the sarcasm. "Captain, what do you want?"

Turner didn't listen, just went on sounding irritated. "I mean, you came to see me and never once said a thing about you two being more than partners."

"I didn’t think it germane to the discussion."

"Germane? What kind of word is that?"

"A perfectly fine word."

Waving a hand of dismissal, Turner cut him off before Fraser repeated his question. "Doesn't matter. I did what you asked. I looked into why this O'Malley thing is stalled."

"Yes, Ray told me about the complications."

"Except I didn't tell him everything."

The hair on the back of Fraser's neck stood up, but he kept his face and voice neutral. "What didn't you tell him?"

"Those Federal fucks are using him, making him a target on purpose. He played right into their hands today when he ran that check on Silverman. Might as well have put a bull's eye on his back."

"Ray already surmised as much."

Turner stared at him for a brief moment and then nodded. "Ray's quick."

"Yes, he is."

"I wish I could do more, but those Federal jerkoffs have my hands tied. They went over my head. They're going to do whatever the hell they want. Assholes."

"Then you don't agree with their plan to use Ray to draw O'Malley out?"

"Hell no. It's got so many holes, it's like a bad movie. Thing is, they convinced the Chief that since Ray was already sort of working for them with the Vecchio thing, that this was just a way of expanding his service. Can you fucking believe that?"

"Unfortunately, most of my interactions with your FBI have not been positive."

"Ray's my best man, you know. I hate losing him."

Fraser frowned. "I don't understand."

"Oh, I'm not talking about him getting killed. I don't think that's going to happen, at least I hope not, not with you watching his back. Ray's resourceful. The guy seems to have nine lives. I don't think I could've gone through what he's been through and keep going. Hell, I know I couldn't."

"Then what did you mean exactly?"

Turner met Fraser's worried gaze. "You can't tell me he's going to stick around for much longer."

"Did Ray say anything about leaving?"

Turner chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound, nowhere near it. "The guy has balls. He told me he'd leave if I made you move out. Didn't budge no matter what I threatened. Offered up his badge."

Fraser choked at the idea of Ray willing to give up so much for their relationship. It made him more proud than ever of his partner. "He said you agreed to allow us to continue living together."

"Didn't have much choice. Still, it's only a matter of time. He's got the look."

"The look?"

"It's in the eyes, that haunted look, like he's lost part of himself to the job. I've seen it too many times not to recognize it. He's burned out and it's my fault. I never should've put him under again. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, you know, the old 'get back up on the horse that threw you' theory. In this case, it only made things worse."

Fraser had mixed feelings about Turner's confession. He knew that what Turner said was true to a certain extent. Ray shouldn't have been put undercover again so quickly after the first attack, not without extensive counseling and evaluation. Still, if he hadn't taken the Vecchio assignment, they would never have met. Their lives would have been completely different, devoid of their friendship, their partnership, and their love. He shuddered to think about it.

"You had no way of knowing that Clooney would escape and attack Ray again. If anyone or any group is responsible for that, it would be the FBI and the lawyers who brokered the deal with Clooney for his testimony."

"But I should've pulled him out after that. This whole Vecchio thing has gone on too long. I should've pulled the plug. It's too much." Turner sagged back, his voice strained. "I remember how he used to be when he first started undercover, full of piss and vinegar, ready to break heads. Nobody could touch him and do the job better than he could. Now… well, it hurts to look at him sometimes."

Fraser shook his head, not wanting to think of all the damage to Ray's life, determined to convince Turner of his erroneous perceptions. "You're wrong. Ray's much stronger than you think. He's even taken it upon himself to continue independent counseling. Certainly, he's still disturbed about some events, but he's handling them fairly well considering the extent of the trauma."

Turner took a deep breath. "God, I hope you're right. Even so, I don't think he's going to stay on the job much longer." Turner paused before he asked, "Has he said anything to you about quitting?"

"I'm not at liberty to share our private conversations."

Jaw tight, Turner nodded. "Doesn't matter. It might be the best thing, him leaving. I don't want anything else on my conscience concerning Ray Kowalski."

"I don't understand."

Turner didn't answer, just looked around, keeping an eye out while he talked. "I hear from Welsh you guys are going to Canada for a break."

"Yes. We decided it might be the best thing. I'm not partial to the idea of the Federal government taking the liberty of using Ray as chum."

"Chum?"

"The chopped up bait they use to catch sharks in deep sea fishing."

"Right. Chum." Turner nodded in grim understanding before he continued, "Look, you didn't hear this from me, but the sooner you guys take off, the better. Nothing the Feds can do if you're not in the country and I doubt O'Malley's going to try for a hit that far north." Turner paused again, eying Fraser intensely. "You can carry a gun up there, right?"

"I can, yes."

"You a good shot?"

Fraser thought about his sharp shooting awards and nodded solemnly. "I can hit the target, yes."

"Good."

Hesitating, Turner nervously rubbed his mouth a couple of times. "I know this is none of my business, but I have to ask. After what happened to Ray, how could he be with you, you know, that way? I don't get it."

Stunned by the inappropriate and intimate nature of the question, Fraser studied the man carefully to find any suggestion of malicious intent. He found only concern mixed in with something else Fraser couldn't quite measure. "You're right, it's none of your business. However, I will say that what happened to Ray has nothing to do with pleasure and intimacy or our life together. It had everything to do with brutality and the domination of another human being. Rape isn't about sex. It's about power."

"Yeah, I went to the seminars."

"Perhaps you should try a remedial session."

Turner sat up a little straighter, but didn't get angry at Fraser's curt rebuke. Instead he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you might be right."

"I love Ray. I would never do anything to hurt him."

"That's good to hear. I'll be holding you to that."

Turner stood up and held out his hand. Fraser got up, too, but as they shook hands, Turner didn't turn loose. "I was wrong about what I said to Ray this afternoon. I had no right and I was way out of line. It just caught me off guard. I never expected Ray of all people to be, you know, gay. I'm sorry."

Fraser got a much clearer picture of how that meeting earlier in the day might have gone. Once again, he flushed with a deep pride. Ray took verbal abuse and pressure from his commanding officer, but never gave an inch about their relationship. It said so much about the true nature of the man he loved. "I'll tell him, but a personal apology might be more appropriate."

With one final shake, Turner released his hand. "You're right. So when are you two leaving?"

"We're still making arrangements, but most likely we'll be gone by Saturday."

"Take good care of him."

Fraser smiled for the first time during the conversation. "Yes, sir. I plan to."

"He's a good man."

Fraser didn't argue. "Yes, I know."

Ray jerked awake and choked on his own scream. The nightmare left him shaky as hell and fighting off vivid images he'd sooner forget. He swallowed several times and worked to clear his head before rolling over to find the bed empty. His quick panic eased when he saw the light filtering in under the door from the living room. He got up and grabbed some shorts before opening the door. Fraser sat at the kitchen table concentrating hard and writing on several pieces of paper. "Fraser?"

"Ray, what are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same question. What time is it?"

"A little after midnight."

Frowning, Ray didn't remember falling asleep. He ran a hand through his hair, still feeling a little fuzzy. "Why didn't you wake me when you got back?"

"You were tired. Besides, I wanted to make a list of everything we need to do tomorrow if we're to leave by Saturday."

Ray hunched his shoulders, a little disappointed but also oddly relieved that Fraser let the earlier romantic opportunity pass by. He sat down and tried to get his wits back to full force. "Saturday? That's pretty quick."

"I've made reservations. This time of year the trip shouldn't be nearly as long as it was at Christmas. We'll have a short layover in Edmonton, but even factoring that in, we should be in Yellowknife by late Saturday night or early Sunday morning."

"That's good then. Nothing like getting out of town when the getting's good." Ray stretched his neck to read the paper, but without his glasses he could only make out blurs. "So, what's on the list?"

"Well, it's several lists actually."

"Big surprise, Mr. Organized. Give me a rundown."

"There's a list of things to do for each of us along with what we need to pack."

"How long do you think we'll be there?"

"I'm planning for at least two weeks, possibly longer."

"Just go by ear, huh?"

"By ear?"

"Yeah, you know, play it by ear, see what happens, go with the flow?"

Smiling, Fraser nodded. "Understood. Yes, we'll go by ear, as it were."

Ray glanced over at Diefenbaker curled up on his rug. "I want to take Dief this time."

"I agree."

Surprised he didn't have to make a federal case first, Ray met Fraser's serious gaze. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Since we don't know how long we'll be gone, it would be unfair to expect Francesca to watch him. In addition, I think he would enjoy the cooler weather."

"Who wouldn't?"

"Good point."

"So, that's settled. Dief needs to pack, too."

"Indeed. I already have his papers ready. Because of his aversion to the C… R… A… T… E, I'll wait until the last minute to tell him that we'll be flying."

"Why are you spelling —"

Fraser shushed him as he glanced over to make sure the wolf wasn't playing possum. "Diefenbaker doesn't quite understand the safety requirements of air travel. I thought it better to postpone any acting out behavior as long as possible."

"Throws a fit, huh?"

"It's embarrassing sometimes."

"Yeah, I get that. Grown wolf acting like a kid just because he doesn't want to ride in a you-know-what."

"Precisely."

"Actually, I don't blame him. I'll bet he'd ride better than that brat that kicked the back of our seats all the way home last time."

"Quite likely, and I understand why he takes offense. Still —"

"The rules are the rules."

"Exactly. Now, what about Turtle?"

Ray shrugged. "I'll ask Frannie tomorrow. She can drop by and feed him and pick up the mail. She's already got a spare key from last time."

"Good. You also need to make final arrangements for your leave with Lt. Welsh and call Dr. Collier to cancel your session for next week."

"Sure." Ray didn't add that he also had to cancel his physical. Running off early had its perks. "What about you? Are you sure you're going to be able to talk Thatcher into letting you go?"

Fraser put down his pen and sighed heavily as he rubbed his forehead. "I must confess, I dread that particular phone call."

"What if she says no, orders you to stay at least until Monday?"

"I'll inform her that she doesn't have a choice."

"You'd defy a direct order in addition to ditching this convention thing, this shindig you planned every detail for?"

"Yes."

"No reservations, no worries, no doubts?"

"None."

Ray loved a Mountie with conviction. He grinned. "You goin' to tape the phone call for me?"

Fraser snorted with humor. "I draw the line at recording my commanding officer when she's likely to use rather strong, if not inappropriate, language. Besides it's illegal."

Teasing, Ray cocked his head. "It could be fun. We could play it back when we're tucked away in the cabin and she's stuck back here with her hands full."

Fraser shook his head with amusement. "I'd much prefer leaving the Inspector, voice and all, in Chicago, Ray."

"She's going to bug out."

Fraser didn't even pretend he didn't know what bug out meant. "It can't be helped."

"Yeah, well, I still think it would be fun to have her on tape. Bet my name gets taken in vain a few times before she's finished. Bet she wishes you'd never met me."

Fraser's expression changed from entertained to serious in a heartbeat. "Why do you say that?"

"It's true."

"Ray, Inspector Thatcher doesn't dislike you. On the contrary, she respects you."

Ray's curiosity got the better of him. "She say that?"

"Not in so many words."

"Then how do you know what she thinks about me?"

Fraser hesitated, but then leaned in, one elbow on the table. "When you were in the hospital and during your convalescence, she went out of her way to oblige my schedules."

"That’s because she knows you'd have quit if you had to."

"True, but she did say something indirectly once. I took it to mean that she admired your integrity and strength."

Intrigued, Ray asked, "What'd she say?"

"It was unexpected. I had gone to the Consulate from the hospital to pick up a few things before returning. She came into the office unannounced and asked about your condition and then, well, then she hugged me and told me to wish you a quick recovery. She said that a police officer was often required to make great sacrifices and that she respected men and women who did their duty."

Ray sat back stunned. "She hugged you?"

"Ray —"

"No, I mean it, she hugged you? Did she cop a feel, too?"

"She was just being supportive. Did you miss the part about sacrifice and respect?"

Ray didn't listen. All he could think about was the Ice Queen making a move on Fraser, knowing full well she wouldn't cry her eyes out if Ray ever dropped dead and out of the picture. All aboard for Fraserland, that's what would happen. "How come you didn't tell me that she hugged you?"

"Now you're just being silly."

Suddenly angry, Ray got up and paced the kitchen a few times before sitting back down. He wanted to bitch slap Thatcher like nobody's business, but knowing Fraser, knowing he'd never cheat no matter what, made it a little easier to take a deep breath. God, having a hair-trigger jealousy button sucked. "Okay, okay, so maybe I'm overreacting, but she's got no business hugging you like that. She should keep her greedy hands to herself."

"Maybe I needed her to hug me like that, Ray."

The hushed voice brought Ray's head up, his eyes laser sharp and focused on Fraser. "What?"

"You were in a bad way, Ray. Despite assurances from the doctors, I was quite beside myself at times, especially right after the attack." Fraser avoided Ray's stare. "I fear at one point I lost my composure. It was the morning just after your arm surgery. You were having such a difficult time and nothing I did seemed to help." Fraser cleared his throat, the words strained. "She was just trying to comfort me. It was nothing untoward, I assure you."

Any jealousy or anger faded quickly. "You were crying?"

"I cry sometimes, Ray."

"I know that. I've seen you. It's just, well, I guess I never thought about you crying like that, you know, alone in your office, just trying to get yourself together because of me."

Fraser reached over and took Ray's hand, his thumb rubbing along the top. "I thought I was going to lose you, Ray."

Ray barely mustered a whisper. "Yeah, I know."

"I love you. I never want to lose you."

"I feel the same way." Ray stood up and pulled Fraser into his arms, his kiss like wildfire through his belly. "Come on. I think we were in the middle of something before you took off to the park."

Kind of breathless, his face already flushed, Fraser asked, "What about the lists?"

"We'll finish in the morning."

"Right you are then."

Ray laughed as Fraser didn't waste a minute to pick up where they'd left off earlier, his eager mouth already busy mapping out Ray's neck.

Backed into the bedroom as they made out, Ray flopped down on his back and waited. Standing at the end of the bed, Fraser slowly unbuttoned his shirt, knowing full well how much Ray enjoyed a good strip show. Ray's throat went dry as he watched Fraser drop the shirt on the chair and then took off his summer pants. Wearing no socks or boots made it a lot easier to be nude a hell of a lot faster. Slipping his thumbs in the waistband of his white cotton boxer briefs, Fraser eased them down his long legs, smiling the whole time, totally shameless. God, what a great look for a Mountie.

Ray didn't need his glasses to see the wonder that was Fraser, his uncut cock already hard, his body lean and well-muscled. The soft gleam of the gold chain and wedding band around his neck stood out against pale skin. Every time Ray saw Fraser in his full glory, he couldn't help but wonder why a man with such beauty would want a skinny, beat up guy like himself. He just thanked god that Fraser saw past all that, that he never was superficial. He knew without a doubt that Fraser loved him with all his heart, the same way Ray loved Fraser.

Ray reached out in invitation. "C' mere you."

Fraser took his hand, letting Ray draw him closer. Kneeling between Ray's spread legs, Fraser bent down and kissed him, deeply, thoroughly. Then he pulled back, his eyes more black than blue. "What would you like, Ray?"

"It's up to you."

"You tell me."

Ray snorted, thinking about how Fraser still always wanted to please him first and in doing so pleased himself. Funny how that worked, but Ray wasn't in the mood to look a gift horse in the mouth. He cupped Fraser's face with both hands, his voice husky and raw with need. "Suck me."

Fraser smiled and took a deep breath, nodding in approval and then dipping his head. He didn't go for the dick right off the bat, no, not Fraser. First, there was the slow licks and nips all along Ray's neck before attending to his nipples. Ray moaned in pleasure as Fraser's mouth teased each hard, little nub.

Fraser's hands stroked Ray's belly, moving down past the elastic band. Lifting his hips, Ray helped Fraser get the shorts off. Before he knew it, Fraser slid his tongue all the way down his chest, past the navel, taking his time before he settled on the target.

Hands cupped Ray's bottom and lifted his ass a little higher as Fraser dropped his head and rounded his lips. His tongue flicked the tip of Ray's dick several times, each contact like an electric spark up Ray's spine. Ray whimpered as he clutched the sheets, wanting more, needing more. Fraser read his mind and took him, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue adding suction and driving Ray crazy.

Ray thrust several times, but Fraser grabbed his hips, slowing the rhythm of his own bobbing head. Eyes squeezed shut, Ray drowned in the heat of Fraser's mouth, the glorious pressure that fired whips of pleasure all up and down Ray's middle, spreading out from his crotch. Even his skin buzzed with nothing but good feeling, stings and zips of bliss. Despite Fraser's attempts to delay getting off, Ray couldn't wait any longer. He bucked up, grunting, punched by the power of coming hard. He jerked several times, bright lights blasting off behind his eyes, his head exploding. His whole body trembled as Fraser didn't let up, just kept sucking and milking away. Ray whimpered from all the pretty stars popping off in his head, jazzing up his body with a brightness, burning him up inside and out.

Fraser lifted his face, his lips swollen and still shiny. He stretched up and over Ray's body, Fraser's mouth locking onto Ray's. Light-headed and still shivering with aftershocks, Ray gobbled up that tongue, that salty delight, traces of his own flavor making it all that much better. He wrapped his arms around Fraser, letting him rub himself against Ray for the few extra shoves it took to finish himself off. Fraser arched up quickly, growling deep in his throat as he came with several short jabs. He dropped down, his body shaking and covered with sweat. Fraser's chin rested on Ray's shoulder, his evening beard rough, his breathing still harsh and ragged.

Ray held him tightly against his chest and then kissed the side of his neck. He savored the weight of Fraser's body pressing him down, how it covered him, kept him grounded. He closed his eyes and caught his own breath before he whispered, "Love you."

Not lifting his head, Fraser licked Ray's ear sending a shiver all through him. "I love you, too, Ray."

After a few minutes, his breathing more normal, Fraser reluctantly slid off and lay beside him. His hand palmed Ray's belly. Ray lay quietly, his eyes closed, knowing full well how Fraser often watched him for hours when he should've been worn out and dreaming. "I'm okay, Fraser. Honest."

"I know that."

"Then go to sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow."

"I can't help but worry."

Ray sighed and rolled over to face him, to make it as okay as he could make it. "One more day, Fraser. That's all. We'll do what we have to do and then we're gone, out of here, hey, hit the skyway. We don't come back until O'Malley's dead or locked up and the Feds have their shit together. I'm not a martyr. I'm not planning to get killed to bring this guy down."

Fraser swallowed hard, obviously trying to be as convinced as Ray wanted him to be. "Perhaps I should go in with you tomorrow."

"I'd like that, Fraser, but we both know that you've got a job to finish." Ray teased a finger down Fraser's cheek, his voice softer and reassuring. "It'll be all right. We can do one more day."

Fraser hesitated and captured Ray's hand at his face, bringing it to rest over his heart. "I want you to wear your vest and promise me you won't do anything rash."

A chill ran down Ray's spine. "You know something I don't know? Your dad do another psychic hotline promo?"

"No, nothing like that. Though Captain Turner did come by and speak to me in the park."

Ray hid his surprise that Turner dropped by. "You saw Turner?"

"Yes, his sense of urgency was rather disconcerting. I just think you should take extra precautions until we can leave safely."

"He say anything specific?"

"About the threat, no? He did agree you were being used as a lure."

"Figures. Still don't know why he'd tell you and not me."

"Perhaps he didn't want to alarm you." Before Ray could respond, Fraser added, "He also apologized for whatever he said this afternoon about our relationship."

"Yeah, well, he should've."

Fraser squeezed his hand before bringing it to his lips for a brief kiss. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being brave enough to do what I know can't be easy for you to do."

Ray frowned, not really sure what Fraser meant. "What's that?"

"I know our relationship might cause problems for you on the job."

Pulling his hand from Fraser's grasp, he reached up and hooked the back of his neck. He drew Fraser close, his lips just a few inches from his face. "I'm not brave, Fraser."

"Yes, Ray, you are."

"No, Fraser, I'm not. I'm in love."

"But —"

Ray stopped the argument with a kiss, deep and sloppy. He pulled back just far enough to see Fraser's big blue eyes. "I don’t want to fight about this. Whatever I do, giving up the badge, moving to Canada, taking grief, it's not about being brave. It's about being with you, about having you in my life, about making you happy."

Fraser studied him briefly, but couldn't leave well enough alone. "And what about you, Ray? Are you happy?"

"With you?"

"I know you love me, Ray, I don't question that. But are you happy with your life as it is?"

Ray countered, suddenly defensive. "Are you?"

"For the most part, yes."

"For the most part? What does that mean, for the most part?"

"It means that I worry about you, about the sadness I sometimes see when you think I'm not looking."

Uneasy, Ray dropped his gaze, not able to look him in the eye. "Aw, Fraser. Come on. Nobody's happy all the time, not even you."

"True enough." After a few seconds Fraser reached out and touched his face again, bringing his head up. "Just promise me you'll be careful tomorrow."

"Deal."

Fraser kissed him, pulling the sheet up and over Ray. Then he got up to go to the bathroom to clean up. Ray lay back, his eyes closed, wishing like hell he could just fast forward and be done with whatever fate had in store for Friday. He just had a really bad feeling about the case, about the Feds, about the whole damn mess.

"Me, sir? You can't be serious." Turnbull stood at attention with a panicked expression.

"I assure you, I'm quite serious."

"But… but —"

Fraser patted his friend and colleague on the back for reassurance. "Relax. I have every faith in you, Constable."

Still flustered, the news still sinking in, Turnbull shook his head. "I appreciate that, sir, but the Inspector will never approve such a plan."

"She has no choice, Turnbull. Ray and I are leaving the city first thing tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?"

"Yes."

Turnbull swallowed hard and then sank into the nearby chair behind his desk. He put a hand to his head, his face suddenly more pale. "I don't think I can do this, sir."

Fraser expected Inspector Thatcher's bad reaction, but he hadn't quite planned on having to convince Turnbull he could handle being in charge of the Consulate over the weekend. He moved in a little closer, deciding to, as Ray would call it, pull out all the stops. "Turnbull… Renny, I need your support."

"My support, sir?"

"Yes. I need to be able to tell the Inspector that I have every confidence in your ability to be in charge until she returns. Before I leave, you and I will have completed all the plans for the conference. You'll only be required to be on call in case of an emergency such as a Canadian citizen needing assistance or some other unforeseen situation."

"It's the unforeseen situation that concerns me, sir. What if I do the wrong thing?" Turnbull swallowed hard. "I know you're too kind to say it, but we both know that I don't always have my wits about me in a crisis."

Fraser was, indeed, too kind to say such a thing, even if he had on occasion thought it. Instead, he worked on calming and persuading his friend that he was up to the task at hand. "I understand your apprehension since it's your first official command, but I truly believe you can handle it or I wouldn't even consider it as an option. In addition, I've asked Lt. Welsh to be available to give advice should anything of a serious nature occur. You can trust his judgment."

Turnbull's blue eyes studied him for a moment. Fraser could almost see his mind turn as he worked out all the angles. After an extremely deep breath, Turnbull made his decision and stood up. "Very well, sir, you can count on me. I accept the responsibility."

Fraser held out his hand and they shook, sealing the deal between them. "Renny, I'm in your debt. This trip is very important to both Ray and myself."

"You wouldn't ask me to do this if it weren't, sir. I understand that. It's just, well, you know how I get sometimes. I get flustered and then I often make a terrible mess of things. Inspector Thatcher will never let me live it down."

"You'll be fine, Renny. However, I do think it's possible that Inspector Thatcher might misdirect her displeasure with me at you. If that should be the case, please don't take it to heart. In fact, you should know that over the last few months, I've come to admire the way you deal with adversity and keep an even keel. Plus, after working with you on organizing the conference, I've also come to appreciate how well you somehow manage to handle the most tedious of tasks without complaint, something I find exceedingly more difficult."

Turnbull flushed with pride. "You really admire me?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I've come to consider you as more than just a colleague."

"Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me. I think of you as a friend as well."

Never comfortable with cozy or strong emotions except with Ray, Fraser nodded and then tugged at his ear. "Good. Well, then I suggest we put the final touches to paper."

"Yes, sir." Enthusiasm building, Turnbull made a fist and nearly whooped like a cheerleader. "Buckle up. Full steam ahead. We can do this."

"We certainly can." Fraser turned, but then spun back around as he remembered something else he needed to ask. "By the way, could Ray and I bother you and Peter for a ride to the airport in the morning?"

"Not a problem, sir."

"Thank you again, Turnbull. Ray was worried about leaving his car unattended in the extended parking facility."

Turnbull waved him off. "Say no more, sir. Peter's the same way. It must be an American thing, this obsession with vintage automobiles."

"A cultural difference, surely."

His good humor restored, Turnbull nodded and then returned to working through the papers on his desk.

Problems with their early departure sorted, Fraser smiled and headed back to his office, knowing that he still had to call the Inspector. He cracked his neck sideways to release the building tension. He glanced over at the clock that said nine o'clock, praying that Ray stayed safe and sound behind his desk like he promised.

Kevlar might stop a bullet, but it'd never make the top ten list of best sportswear for summer. It didn't breathe worth shit and kept sweat plastered next to the skin, which meant it itched like crazy. Of course, if Ray wanted to keep breathing, he'd keep it strapped on under his T-shirt like he promised Fraser.

Ray finished everything on his list of things to do and only had a handful of folders left to work through. Welsh had already okayed his leave and Frannie agreed to take care of Turtle and pick up mail, no problem. Dr. Collier wasn't happy about him taking off early, but told him to check in as soon as he got back. She made damn sure that Ray understood he couldn't worm his way out of that physical by flying off to Canada, so forget about it. All in all, things moved pretty fast when he first got to work, but then ended up moving slower than molasses. He never was good at waiting.

Too wired to sit still, Ray got up and headed to the break room. Grateful to be alone for a few minutes, he dropped some quarters in the Coke machine and punched the buttons. As he got his Sprite, he decided M&Ms might hit the spot. Frannie came up from behind him and tapped his shoulder without warning. "Ray —"

Half his Sprite spilled all over his hand as Ray jerked away. "Jesus, Frannie, don't do that. You could give a guy a heart attack or something."

"Sorry."

"Well, don't sneak."

"I wasn't sneaking."

"You sneaked."

Frannie shook her head, frowning as she crossed her arms. "Why so jumpy. What's up?"

Ray denied his own twitchy behavior as he finished getting his candy and used napkins to wipe up his spill. "I just don't like it when people sneak."

"Is that why you're wearing a bulletproof vest in the squad room?"

Ray tugged the vest down some, uncomfortable and wanting to scratch his back. "It's Fraser's idea."

"And why are you guys leaving town in such a hurry? Are you in some kind of trouble?" Shaking his head, Ray sat down at one of the tables while Frannie settled down across from him. "Come on, Ray. I know Welsh put you on desk duty and I know it's got something to do with the Feds. Has all this got something to do with Ray?"

It never occurred to Ray that Frannie would think her brother might be in trouble. "No, Frannie, don't worry. This is nothing like that. It's just one of those things." He ripped open the edge of the M&Ms and popped a few in his mouth before pouring the rest out in his hand. The rush of chocolate over his tongue eased his nervousness for some reason. He knew chocolate was supposed to make people hyper, but it always had the opposite effect on him.

Frannie reached over and stole one of his candies, a red one, his favorite. "Look, I know something's up. That Captain Turner of yours might as well work around here he's in with Welsh so much. I know he's the one who runs the show for you and Ray. So, what's it about if it's not about you two?"

Ray shook his head stubbornly, knowing the less Frannie knew, the better. "Sorry, can't say."

"God, you guys and your secrets." She choked up a little. "Okay, okay, so you can't tell me, but you promise it's not about Ray, right?"

"I promise."

She threw the candy in her mouth and chewed as she complained, "Good, but you guys should think about your families sometimes. I mean, sure you do the right thing and go hunting down bad guys, but the rest of us are stuck at home worrying our asses off about if we'll ever see you again."

Ray saw the start of waterworks, but she stubbornly wiped the tear away with the back of her hand. She straightened herself up and put on a good face. "Anyway, the reason I came in here was I forgot to ask if you and Fraser needed a ride to the airport."

"Thanks, Frannie, but we're fine. Turnbull's going to drive us out."

"Turnbull, huh?"

"Yeah. He's got a buddy who has a car."

"Okay, that's good." Frannie cleared her throat. "Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you talked to your parents at all since Christmas?"

Ray tensed up. He was in no mood to talk about his parents, not today, not anytime soon. His answer came out tight. "No."

"Look, I know this is none of my business —"

"Never stopped you before."

Frannie went on like he hadn't said a word. "And I know they acted like jerks about you and Fraser, but you should at least call, you know, keep in touch or something."

"The phone works both ways, Frannie."

"They're not getting any younger, and let's face it, neither are you."

The softness of her voice brought his head up. "Frannie, what's going on?"

"Nothin'. It's just that I know Ma would love to see Ray and she can't. I mean, she's been a little puny the last few weeks, nothing serious, but I can tell she misses having him around. It's funny, too, because they used to fight like cats and dogs sometimes, but now that he's gone, it's like there's this big hole in her life none of us can fill."

"Yeah, it must be rough. From everything I read, they're real close."

"So I'm just saying maybe you ought to give your folks a call, that's all."

Ray sipped his Sprite and pushed down his resentment and anger. It didn't do any good to dwell on it. "It's not the same. My dad pretty much disowned me, and Mum, well, she's made it clear where she stands. If she wanted to call, she could. The fact that she doesn't, that says a lot."

Frannie reached over and took his hand. "I'm sorry, Ray."

Shrugging, Ray squeezed her hand and then pulled away. He took a long swallow to finish off the drink. "I'm okay with it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ray could tell she wasn't buying it, so he changed the subject. "So, you going anywhere for a vacation this summer?"

"Me? I don't know. Maybe. I might take off to Florida. I've got an aunt and uncle who live down there. I haven't decided."

Ray cocked his head and gave his best wolfish grin. "You should go. Wear some skimpy bikini. You'd look good with a tan."

"I look good without a tan."

"That's a fact." Ray might be in love with Fraser, but he hadn't gone blind in the meantime.

They sat there for an extra moment, more comfortable with the teasing than the heart-to-heart. Before they could say anything else, Dewey leaned his pointy head inside the door. "Hey, Vecchio, the Lieutenant wants to see you right away."

"What's up?"

"Don't ask me, but Captain Turner's in there and nobody looks happy."

Ray got up in a hurry, tossing the can and the wadded up candy wrapper in the trash. He rushed down the hall to find Welsh and Turner arguing behind closed doors. Angry voices carried through the glass, but he couldn't quite make out all the words. Sometimes he wished he had bat ears like Fraser.

Knocking on the door, he opened it and both men went silent, their expressions grim. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Swallowing hard, he shut the door behind him and stood there. "You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?"

Welsh rubbed a hand over the back of his head, his face red. Turner didn't look any calmer. Welsh spoke first. "Sit down, Detective."

Ray didn't like the sound of that, not a bit. Welsh had that tone of voice he used that never meant anything good. "Maybe I should stand."

Impatient, Turner snapped. "Sit down and stop being so damn stubborn."

Reluctantly, Ray settled on Welsh's sofa, gearing up for whatever bomb they had to drop. "What's up?"

Neither man spoke right off the bat. First Welsh moved back to his chair behind his desk. Turner stayed standing. Turner cleared his throat, obviously having a hard time figuring out what to say. "Look, Ray, this is difficult."

Now he really was on the verge of punching somebody out. "Come on, Captain, just tell me what's going on. Did something happen?"

Welsh jumped in. "It's important to understand that neither one of us saw this coming."

"Saw what coming?"

Turner covered his mouth and shook his head. "I got a call from Crenshaw. Cody's dead. So's Silverman."

Chilled to the core, Ray sat back. Fuck. He worked hard to keep the shock out of his voice. "I thought they were in protective custody."

"They were." Turner sat down beside Ray, his shoulders sagging. "Cody got it in the back, Silverman in the head. Both men were in federal holding cells."

Separate cells, separate hits, how the fuck did a guy get past all that security and manage to kill two people? "Then how the fuck did they end up dead?"

"Good question."

Ray started to get up, but Turner grabbed his arm. "Stay."

"Captain —"

"Shut up and listen. Matt Cody was a good man. Sure, he fucked up and did something stupid, but he shouldn't be dead. Still, he was an officer, so he knew the risks."

Ray's face heated as he snapped, "Yeah, but knowing the risks and getting capped in custody are two different things. They were supposed to fucking protect him."

"I know. About the only good thing is now they have the mole."

"You mean the spy spying on the Feds?"

"Yeah. It was an agent Davis."

Ray shook his head, trying to jog his memory. He knew that name. Jesus. "Davis? He was in on the Clooney thing. He's Crenshaw's right hand man."

"I know."

"Fuck."

"I know."

Stunned, the magnitude of it all sank in. Davis had been there from the beginning, even helped rescue him from the attack on Clooney. It all dropped into place. Talk about being truly and royally fucked. "O'Malley wanted Clooney dead and he got it. Then he kept Davis in place to make sure the Feds couldn't get anything solid."

"That's how they figure it, yeah. If Davis hadn't gotten caught taking Cody and Silverman out, he'd still be feeding O'Malley information on the operation."

"So, you're saying O'Malley knows the whole deal, my real name, everything?"

"Pretty much."

Ray's chest tightened, his head about to explode. The whole world spun around and nobody noticed but him. "Then they have to pull Vecchio. O'Malley could blow the whistle on our covers any time."

"They're considering it, but they don't want to shut it down just yet."

"What the fuck is the problem? Do they want Vecchio dead, too, or what?"

"It's not that. They say he's in too deep to pull out right now, that he's at some critical point."

"Critical point, my ass. He's going to be dead if O'Malley sells the information."

"They've got it on hold and according to them, there's no indication that there's a leak in the cover. That's all the bastards will say."

Ray leaned forward, his head in both hands. Those Federal fucks didn't give a shit about him or Vecchio or anybody else. He needed to calm down, not go nuts and lose it right there.

Turner rested a hand on his back and kept his voice even. "Ray, are you okay?"

"Hell, no, I'm not okay." He lifted his head, working to keep some kind of cool and not wig out before he found out all he needed to know. "So, where does that leave us? Is Davis going to rat on O'Malley?"

Turner shook his head. "Crenshaw wouldn't say. I guess it depends on what kind of deal he can make. He killed a police officer, got it on tape, so no way out of that one. He'll be up for the death penalty. Maybe he's not ready to die yet and he'll flip on O'Malley. Who the fuck knows?"

Welsh cleared his throat and then looked first at Turner and then at Ray. "There's something else you have to know, Ray."

Ray didn't know if he could handle much more. "Something else?"

Turner stepped in. "What he's trying to say is that we're both sorry. I mean, we honest to God didn't think the kid would be in danger. If we had, we would've done something."

Confused, Ray blinked a couple of times before what Turner said made sense. The sinking feeling in his stomach turned to lead. "Shit. Do not tell me this. Just do not tell me that Martin Jones is dead."

Welsh's gruff voice sounded even more rough than usual. "Early this morning. They found the body down by the docks and called it in. The mother just made the ID."

"Fuck."

Turner touched his arm. "Ray —"

Jerking away, Ray wanted to hurl, to just run and puke his guts out. Instead, he stood up, his mind racing a hundred miles a minute, Martin Jones's young face flashing in his head. "Son of a bitch, Captain, he was just a kid. I fucking told you this would happen. I fucking told you."

"I know, Ray. I'm sorry."

Ray didn't want sorry. He wanted O'Malley dead and Martin Jones alive and well and growing up like he deserved. He closed his eyes and put a hand to his head, hoping like hell he didn't lose his mind before he got the fuck out of Welsh's office. His Lieutenant's voice broke though. "Ray, until the Feds arrest O'Malley, we want to put you in protective custody."

Ray snorted. "Didn't do much good for Cody, sir."

Turner took a step closer and Ray held up a cautionary hand. "Don't. Don't fucking touch me."

Taking the warning seriously, Turner put up both hands in a backing off gesture. He kept his voice even, but firm. "Look. I'll take care of the safe house myself this time. No way will O'Malley find you."

"No safe house. I'm going home, pack, and leave town, same as I planned."

Turner shook his head, his position firm. "That plan's changed."

"Not for me, sir." Ray stood straighter, more determined. No way in hell would he let Turner or anyone else get in his way now. "I'm going with Fraser. You try to stop me, you'd better have a gun in your hand and be willing to pull the trigger."

Welsh tried to reason with him. "Ray, come on. Be sensible. Until O'Malley's behind bars, it's not safe."

"It's not safe even then, sir. We all know that. O'Malley wants me dead, he can put a hit out from prison just as easy as when he's loose. It'll just be a little harder to reach me if I don't stick around."

Turner argued. "You stay here, we can protect you."

"Like Cody?"

Stepping closer, Turner got in his face, his breath hot against Ray's skin. "We're not the Feds, goddamn it. You leave here, I can't guarantee your safety. Jesus, Ray, I've already lost one man. I don't want to lose another. Stop being a hothead and try to see reason."

Ray met Turner's eyes until the other man blinked first. Then Ray looked over at Welsh. "Sir, I'm starting that leave early."

"I can't stop you."

Turner barked, "I can."

Ray glared and shook his head. "Try it and I'm done, finished, ride over. Take the badge and shove it."

Ray watched as his captain mentally weighed his options. After a few seconds of silence, Turner gave up. "You always were a hard-headed son of a bitch."

"Takes one, sir."

"Yeah, well, I hope you're right about leaving. I hope this run to the north works out. Maybe by the time you come back, the Feds will have their fucking act together and O'Malley will be sewn up like he should've been months ago."

"I'm not holding my breath."

"Neither am I." Turner held out a hand. "Sorry about yesterday and today. It's been a bad run."

Reluctantly, Ray shook hands and then did a quick salute to Welsh. "I'm out of here. You'll see me when you see me."

"Watch your back and keep an eye open, Detective."

Welsh's words echoed in his head as Ray rushed out, not even stopping at his desk or saying so long to Frannie. The sooner he got out of there, the sooner he could fall apart in private.

One beer, two beers, a whole case would never be enough to wash away the guilt of Martin Jones dead at sixteen for no other reason than Ray failed to protect him. Hell, he even lied and told the kid that everything would be fine when Ray knew damn good and well it wouldn't be. Fuck. Ray kept driving past the liquor stores and the bars, heading straight to the Consulate. He needed a Fraser fix before he did something really dumb, really stupid, more stupid than wanting to get drunk off his ass or walking off the job with O'Malley still on his tail.

The fucking Feds continued to follow along a few cars back. Ray cursed under his breath and briefly considered speeding through the light, but he didn't. Fraser's cautionary voice stayed in his head all the time now. "Don't run a yellow light, Ray." "Go the posted limits, Ray." "Don't use obscene gestures while driving, Ray." It was a real pain in the ass sometimes, but it was still a voice he could live with.

Sitting there, motor humming along, he glanced sideways and jumped out of his skin. "What the fuck?"

"Language, Son."

Beside him, right there in broad daylight, Bob Fraser stared back and he didn't look happy, not a bit. Ray liked Fraser's dad a lot, even more than Fraser did sometimes. That didn't mean he wanted to see the old guy pop in without some kind of warning. He should wear a bell or hum scary music like they did in those old horror movies. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner."

"What's going on? You getting one of those premiwhatsis deals where you know what's going to happen before it happens?"

Bob Fraser reached over and grabbed Ray's arm, the grip solid, but cold as ice. "I'm sorry about this, but I don't have time to explain."

Fraser's dad suddenly yanked him sideways just as a blast blew out the driver's side window. A booming flash laced pain along the left side of Ray's face. His head exploded with agony, like a spear running through his forehead up through the top of his skull. Blackness swallowed up his scream as Ray sank into an all too familiar chill.

Fraser paced the small space of his office, desperately worried. Lieutenant Welsh called to tell him about the murders and how Ray took off, angry and more than a little heated about Martin Jones's death. Fraser tried Ray's cell phone several times, but got no answer. It was less than fifteen minutes by car between the station and the Consulate. If Ray were headed to see Fraser, he would have arrived already.

Fraser considered his options. He could wait or he could go searching. He hoped Ray would come to him, but in Ray's state of mind, he might also go to a bar or buy a bottle and go home to get drunk on his own. Before he made up his mind one way or the other about how to proceed, a knock came at the door and Turnbull stepped in without waiting for permission. "Sir?"

Fraser straightened, alarmed by Turnbull's distressed features. "What is it? Is it Ray?"

Turnbull hesitated, but then swallowed hard and nodded. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid so. Peter just called. Ray's been hurt. Peter treated him on the scene, but Ray's being transported to Cook County Emergency."

Suddenly cold, Fraser fought down his own panic. For Ray's sake he had to keep his head. "Did he say how badly Ray was hurt?

"He said there was some kind of shotgun blast and possible head injury. He wanted me to tell you to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Lt. Welsh has already sent a patrol car. It's right outside."

Stunned, Fraser didn't move a muscle, like time stood still all around him. Turnbull's words jolted him back to full awareness. "Feel free to leave Diefenbaker here, sir. I'll hold the fort as it were."

The wolf protested, but Fraser shook his head and petted the animal. "You stay here. I'll let you know as soon as I can."

Grabbing up his hat, Fraser hurried out the door, not sure what he'd do if Ray didn't make it through.

A shotgun blast? Dear Lord.

Police swarmed the waiting room of the ER, some local, some federal. Fraser pushed down his irrational hatred of the hospital building and walked up to Lieutenant Welsh. He swallowed several times before he actually spoke to get Welsh's attention. "Lieutenant, what's happened? How's Ray?"

Turning, Welsh grabbed Fraser's arm, guiding him to the other side of the room, away from the others where it was both more quiet and private. Once there, Welsh kept his grip on Fraser's elbow as he told what he knew. "He's alive. They think he's going to be okay. They're still cleaning him up, but they want to do a CT scan and they've called in some kind of plastic surgeon, somebody they call an eye plastic specialist."

Fraser closed his eyes briefly, relieved that Ray was not only alive, but that his injuries didn't appear to be life threatening. Slowly, the rest of what Welsh told him sank in. "Why are they doing a CT scan and why an eye plastic specialist?"

"He might have a concussion. The plastic surgeon is for the wounds on his face and around his left eye. She's some kind of special doctor for eye injuries."

"Eye injuries?"

Welsh took a deep breath. "Okay, here's how I hear it. The Feds had a tail on Ray when he stormed out of the station just in case O'Malley still tried something. When he stopped at a light, a car drove up beside Ray's car and shot out the driver's side window." Welsh paused and shook his head, holding up a hand so Fraser wouldn't interrupt. "The thing is, according to the Feds, Ray was acting weird right before it happened."

"Weird? In what way?"

"Like he was talking to somebody in the front seat, only there was nobody in the car but him. Anyway, he ducked sideways right before the shot happened. If he hadn't, well, I don't even want to think about it. His injuries are from the glass, not the gun blast itself. Apparently he was cut up pretty badly around his left eye. They're just taking precautions."

Fraser's mouth fell open, but he closed it. He suspected he owed his father a huge debt of gratitude, but he'd save that for later after he confirmed his suspicions with Ray. He cleared his throat and focused on Welsh. "You said he might have a concussion?"

"I guess from when he threw himself sideways. He was unconscious when the paramedics got there and the doctor said he was out of it, kept fighting as they tried to evaluate his condition."

Combative, that sounded like Ray when he got scared. "I want to see him."

Welsh put a hand on Fraser's shoulder. "You will, but not until they're done."

Fraser accepted that part, knew from experience that waiting came with the territory in American hospitals. He took a deep breath, his anger and frustration welling up. "I want to know how this whole situation escalated to this point. Why isn't O'Malley in custody?"

A small cough interrupted from behind and they both turned. Fraser recognized the man as Special Agent Crenshaw. He remembered how the young man helped in the investigation and escape of Clooney seven months ago. Crenshaw's haggard appearance spoke volumes as to the toll of the job. However, any sympathy Fraser might have for the man was negated by the fact that he held Crenshaw partly responsible for allowing the attack on Ray to happen in the first place.

"Constable Fraser, I'm in the process of getting a federal warrant on O'Malley. I'm just waiting for the judge to call back and confirm."

Standing straighter, Fraser fought down the outrage. "Why did it take four more deaths and an attack on my partner to finally get some action on the case?"

"I know you're angry. You have every right to be. We only now have two reliable witnesses who will testify to O'Malley's connection with the attack on your partner and the other deaths last night."

"What witnesses are those?"

Crenshaw's jaw clenched. "I'm not at liberty to divulge those names, but I will say that we've finally got the son of a bitch."

Fraser took a step closer, his face mere inches from Crenshaw's. Anger overtook reason, made him more than sure of what he was about to say. Hands fisted at his sides, Fraser's voice took on a cold, menacing quality. "I need you to give Mr. O'Malley a message."

"What message?"

"If he comes after my partner again, he's a dead man."

Crenshaw's eyes widened, surprised by the source and the absolute conviction behind the words. "You know I can't officially tell him that."

"Then make it unofficial, but tell him."

Welsh cleared his throat. "Constable, you're upset. We understand that."

Fraser shook his head, his gaze never wavering from Crenshaw's shocked face. "Tell O'Malley what I said. Fair warning."

After a few seconds, Crenshaw nodded grimly. "Seems fair enough to me."

Fraser recognized the look, the awareness that Crenshaw understood the complete seriousness of his threat, his promise that any other attack on Ray would be answered with lethal force in return. "Then we understand one another?"

"Completely."

"Good." Fraser took a deep calming breath and turned his attention back to Welsh. "I need to get an update on Ray."

As Crenshaw walked away to make another call, Welsh studied him an extra moment and then shook his head. "You surprise me, Constable."

"Why?"

"Because I believe you'd actually do it."

Fraser's thin smiled chilled the room. "Never doubt it, sir."

 

"That doesn't violate some Mountie code or something?"

"My vow to protect Ray supercedes any other oath, even my own survival. I only wish I'd have realized that before this happened."

Welsh patted him on the back again with renewed care and respect. "He's going to be okay, Constable. A few cuts and scrapes, a few stitches. Ray's tough. O'Malley will be locked away, too busy with legal hurdles to worry about trying again."

Fraser heard the words of reassurance, but didn't really listen. Instead, he focused his energy on speaking to Ray, proving to himself with his own eyes that his partner had survived one more close brush with death.

Ray hated hospitals, the poking, the prodding, the needles and stitches, not to mention the pain. His head hurt and his face felt like he'd lost a round with a fucking porcupine. On top of all that, he still couldn't see worth shit. Everything blurred and wiggled in and out of focus. Every time he came to, he found himself reaching for the left side of his face and having someone shove his hands down, even threatening him with restraints if he didn't cut it out. He took the warning seriously. He'd been in the hospital too many times not to know that the fuckers meant business. He also knew he'd go nuts if they tied him down, just lose it and use his free pass to the crazy express, no return ticket.

The last doctor who came in was some pretty young lady, a Dr. Ashford. She kind of reminded him of Stella in her early days before his ex turned into somebody he hardly recognized. Ashford told him he'd been lucky, that the glass splinters peppering the left side of his face had missed the eye itself. A couple of larger pieces of glass had lodged under and over his eye socket, but those had been removed and the wounds stitched. Apparently, there was no deep muscle involvement, so she didn't need to do surgery. However, there was one abrasion on his left cornea. For that she used antibiotics and some kind of ointment to numb any pain, saying it should heal on its own in a few days. He even got to wear an eye patch if he wanted, and he thought, what the hell, might as well. If nothing else, it would cut down on the double vision, which it did.

Bandages covered several spots on his face and up and down his left arm. He'd thrown his arm up when he'd been yanked sideways. With no jacket, he'd ended up with about fifty stitches here and there. It was nothing to sneeze at, but not the worst he'd ever had, either.

All in all, he got off easy. He could've lost an eye, or worse, lost his whole fucking head. Thank god Fraser had connections with the spirit world or he'd be a goner.

Ray sat propped upright in the ER bed, wondering what the hell a guy got for a dead father-in-law who saved his ass. He wasn't even close to an answer, not a clue, when Fraser came through the door and pushed back the privacy curtain. "Ray?"

As soon as he saw Fraser's strained features and big blue eyes, Ray forgot about the ghost thing and focused on the keeping Fraser from going nuts thing. Fraser might pull that cool as a breeze, all calm and collected bullshit with other people, but Ray knew better. His partner got rocky if Ray didn't shut it down in a hurry. "I'm okay. It's not as bad as it looks."

"I should hope so. It looks terrible."

"Yeah, well, it could be worse."

Fraser moved to the side of the bed and took Ray's hand. "Are you all right, Ray? Truly?"

Ray shrugged, trying to play down his own pain. "A little wear and tear, but not bad, considering."

"Considering you could've been killed? Yes, I agree."

Eyes closed, Ray let the pain medication float around in his system, enjoying the temporary disconnection to his own body. "You know, if it weren't for your old man, I'd be haunting your closet."

Squeezing Ray's hand, Fraser whispered, "I suspected as much."

That got Ray's attention. "How's that?"

Fraser's voice got tight. "The men who were supposed to be protecting you apparently saw you talking to someone who wasn't there."

"Dead giveaway, huh?"

"So to speak." Fraser's hand cupped the undamaged right side of Ray's face. "I still don't understand how he warned you."

Still holding hands with Fraser, he showed the finger-shaped discoloring on his right forearm. "How can a ghost give a guy bruises? I mean, I know he's see through, not really there, so look at these and tell me how the hell he did that."

Fraser ghosted his fingers gently over the dark marks on Ray's arm, shaking his head in bewilderment. "I can't explain it. I know he can, on occasion, make others hear him. He did that once before. However, I didn't realize he was capable of materializing and actually touching the living."

"Lucky for me."

"For me as well." Fraser gave him a quick kiss before lacing his fingers through Ray's, relief putting some pink back in those beautiful Mountie cheeks.

Ray dreaded hearing the details, but he couldn't put it off. "Did you get a chance to check out my car?"

"I'm afraid not. It's been taken to forensics to gather evidence."

"You mean what's left of it."

"I'm not sure how bad the damage is, Ray. Regardless, you'll find some way to fix it."

"I hope so. It'll need a new window and new left door panel for sure. God, what a mess." Ray sighed, his head still throbbing despite the pain medicine. "I just want to go home."

"Soon, Ray."

"Soon? How soon?"

"They're getting the paperwork together."

"Told 'em I didn't have a concussion."

"Well, actually you do, but it's mild and since your wounds aren't really life threatening, they've agreed to release you into my care."

Just from the way Fraser phrased that, Ray knew the score. "They were going to keep me, right?"

"They wanted to admit you for observation. I knew you'd rest more easily at home."

"You've got that right. Thanks."

Pushing back Ray's short bangs with affection, Fraser shook his head. "I did it for purely selfish reasons."

"You wanted me to yourself, huh?"

"Entirely."

Ray closed his eyes again, grateful to have those warm and loving touches. He hated to spoil the mood, but he had to know. "So, did they get the shooter?" The soft strokes stopped and Fraser released his hand. Ray opened his eyes and saw his partner pacing the small space, the anger barely restrained. "Don't tell me the guy got away."

"No, Ray, the perpetrator didn't escape."

"Then why all the smoke?"

Fraser's head tilted in confusion, his eyes narrowed. "Smoke?"

"You know, smoke from the ears, like in why are you so pissed off and fuming, ready to bust a gut?"

"Why am I angry?"

"Yeah."

Exasperated, Fraser stepped closer, both hands braced against the edge of the bed. "You're lying here, stitched and bandaged, lucky to be alive, and you have to ask?"

"Well, yeah, I guess that was sort of a stupid question."

Fraser continued to rant. It'd been a while since Ray had seen him blow off so much steam. It wasn't a bad look since the heat was directed at someone else for a change. "It's just that the incompetence of the people involved in this operation is mind-boggling, Ray. As a result, you were injured and people have been murdered. It's outrageous."

The drugs didn't help dull the guilt, the terrible gnawing at Ray's brain when he thought about his own screw up. "Yeah, I know. Did they tell you about the kid who got killed?"

"Martin Jones? Yes." Fraser shook his head, his eyes sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Ray. I know you were worried about him."

Ray couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "I should've been more than worried, Fraser. That kid's dead because I didn't fight hard enough to do what's right. I was so caught up in other stuff, I didn't go with my gut, my own instinct."

"His death isn't your fault, Ray."

"Sure it is."

"Ray —"

"Shut up, Fraser. I say it is and I don't want any excuses or poor Ray shit, okay? I should've fought harder for protection, but I didn't. Now, he's dead just because he tried to do the right thing. Fuckers killed a sixteen-year-old who should be out playing basketball, not being buried by his mum. The whole thing sucks. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I'm not ducking my part in getting him killed."

"You didn't have final say in providing the boy protection."

Ray didn't want to hear it, didn’t want anything to lessen his grief, the pain he deserved for being a fuck up. "I could've —"

"Could have what, Ray? Captain Turner, Lt. Welsh, the FBI, they all had the same information."

"But —"

Fraser didn't let him speak and make his case, but kept on rattling off reasons to let him off the hook. "First and foremost, the one to blame is O'Malley since he's the one who put out the contract. In addition, people in charge knew the dangers, and they still neglected to take the threat seriously. They all truly believed he wasn't at risk. If you insist on taking blame for not demanding more precautions, the least you can do is share the blame with the others involved. You can't shoulder this all on your own, Ray. It's not a rational assessment of the situation."

Ray shook his head, still not convinced, his gut still knotted up into a tight fist. "I don’t feel rational, Fraser. A kid's dead. It's hard to feel all logical and sensible about it when I feel like I might as well have pulled the trigger myself. Guilt's got nothin' to do with what's logical."

Fraser took Ray's hand again, squeezing it, his argument done for the moment. "Understood."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Guilt and I are not total strangers."

Right eye squinted, Ray cocked his head. "What do you feel guilty about?"

"I should've protected you. I should've been with you this morning or better yet, I should have insisted we leave earlier when O'Malley's name first came into the situation."

"Come on. It's not your fault."

"I beg to differ."

"Because you're a freak."

Fraser grinned and gave a small snort of relief as he gave in. "Without question."

Tired of arguing, just wanting to leave, Ray complained. "What's taking them so long?"

"It's likely a combination of things. The FBI are trying to coordinate with the Chicago PD and the hospital is trying to clear you with the neurologist. I think Special Agent Crenshaw also wants to be sure O'Malley is in custody before you're released."

Ray's wandering attention got focused in a hurry. "O'Malley's getting picked up?"

"That's my understanding, yes."

"Thank god." It wouldn’t make up for all the bloodshed, all the shit going down, but it was a start. With his one good eye, Ray noticed right off the bat Fraser's gloomy expression and lack of enthusiasm. "What? You don't think that's a good thing?"

"Of course it's a good thing."

"But?"

"But it should've happened months ago, before all the carnage."

"Yeah, but maybe this will put an end to it."

Fraser tilted his head and studied him. "It's not like you to be the optimistic one, Ray."

"Well, maybe nearly getting my head blown off made me see things a little bit different." Ray straightened the sheet over his lap, his chest still tight despite the good news about O'Malley's arrest. "And maybe I just want this shit to be over and done with, no more surveillance, no more dealing with the Feds."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but we're still in the picture for a little bit longer." Both Fraser and Ray glanced up at Crenshaw standing just inside the curtain.

Fraser said it first. "You didn't get the warrant."

"No, we got the warrant. We've even got O'Malley behind bars."

Ray hated the way Feds dragged things out. "So what's the problem? Why aren't we done?"

Crenshaw stepped closer to the bed, eyeing Ray's injuries. "God, you look like shit, Kowalski."

"Fuck you, Crenshaw. Maybe your guys should've done a better job protecting my ass instead of hanging it out to dry." Ray expected some bitching about language and controlling his temper, but didn't get it. Fraser must have caught on, figured out the Feds weren't their best buddies after all. Ray barked again. "Now, tell me what's going on."

"When we brought O'Malley in, we also brought in our undercover guy. We still need to debrief him completely, but so far we already know that O'Malley put out another hit."

Ray groaned, not wanting to hear it. "On me?"

"Oh yeah."

Fraser voice went steely. "Did you by any chance have an opportunity to deliver my message, Special Agent?"

Crenshaw took a deep breath. "No, I haven't. I was just getting ready to head into the lion's den with O'Malley."

"Then I suggest you do so."

"Constable —"

"Special Agent Crenshaw, I assure you that when you tell him, the situation will change."

Crenshaw's eyes narrowed. "Constable, I think you might be overestimating O'Malley's reaction to your threat."

Ray sat up a little straighter, suddenly all ears. "Threat? What threat?"

Fraser and Crenshaw ignored him, both putting a hell of a lot of energy into a staring match. Ray knew from experience that Crenshaw didn't stand a chance in a pissing contest with Fraser, so he just watched as Fraser laid out his position. "O'Malley knows me, knows my reputation. He knows I am a man of my word and not a man without recourse. I think he'll take my words seriously."

"You do, huh?"

"Yes, I do."

Crenshaw hesitated and then finally nodded at Fraser before turning his attention back to Ray. "I hope you're right, but meanwhile, I'm putting men on your place, inside and out."

Ray waved his hand in confusion. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What's going on? What are you two talking about?" Ray stared at Fraser. "What'd you say to O'Malley?"

Fraser put his hand on Ray's shoulder and squeezed. "I'll explain later, Ray."

Knowing he wouldn't get anything else, Ray gave up for the moment. "You bet your ass you will." Then he pointed a finger at Crenshaw. "And you, you better tell your guys to get on the ball and get their heads out of their asses."

"I plan to."

Ray wasn't done. "And I need to know about Vecchio."

"What about him?"

"Is he safe?"

For the first time Crenshaw smiled. "I have it on good authority that Vecchio is not only safe, but at the top of his game. His operation is making even more headway than we anticipated."

Ray scratched his head. "It makes no sense. If O'Malley knows I'm not the real Vecchio, why hasn't he found a way to use that?"

"He might know you're not Vecchio, but he doesn't know if there is a 'real' Vecchio. We've fed him the story that you took the name Vecchio just to get away from your old identity."

"And why would I do that?" Crenshaw rubbed the back of his head nervously, dragging his heels with the answer. "Well, come on, why would I change my name to Vecchio?"

"Because of what happened with Clooney when you were undercover."

Ray paled at the words, but he didn't puke, which considering the situation, was progress. "And he bought that?"

"So far, yeah. I guess he figures your own name had too much baggage from the first time that creep did what he did."

Fraser's hand squeezed gently and reminded Ray he wasn't alone in his memories of Clooney. Ray cleared his throat. "So, you really think someone's going to try to kill me again?

"Don't know, but I don't want to take any more chances."

Fraser beat Ray to the punch. "Well, it's about damn time."

They made it home with a whole bag of prescriptions and guards posted out front before Ray finally popped the question. "Okay, what'd you say to O'Malley?"

"Ray, I think we should get you to bed first. We can talk later."

Shaking his head, Ray stubbornly settled on the sofa and patted the cushion on his right side. Keeping an eye on a guy took on a whole new meaning when wearing an eye patch. "Get over here and spill."

"Spill?"

"Your guts, the story, what the hell you said that got Crenshaw so wired."

"Ah."

"Don't start with me, Fraser. I've had a hell of a bad day and my head hurts like a son of a bitch. I don't think I can take ya, but I can sure give it a shot."

Fraser's small smile gave it away. He knew all along what spill meant. "Don't strain yourself, Ray."

"Then get over here and stop stallin'."

Fraser took off his uniform tunic first, wearing his white summer T-shirt under the serge instead of the thicker Henley. He took his time to hang it up and then finally came to sit beside Ray. After a few seconds, he spoke quietly. "I don't know what possessed me."

"What the hell did you say, Fraser?"

"I told Crenshaw to tell O'Malley that if he came after you again, he was a dead man."

Ray's mouth went suddenly dry. "You said what?"

"I said —"

"I heard what you said. I just don't believe it."

"Believe it."

It took several tries to swallow before Ray found his voice. He knew that Fraser meant it, not a doubt in his mind. When Fraser said something, he wasn't just whistling Dixie. He took it to heart, meant every word of it, always. It both scared and thrilled him that Fraser even considered such extreme action to protect him. "You know that was d… u… m… dumb, right?"

Fraser shook his head stubbornly. "I won't let him hurt you again, Ray."

"And it was totally rude and unmountie-like, not a bit like you." Ray took Fraser's hand and squeezed it, hoping that Fraser understood what he was really saying.

Fraser turned his head, his eyes studying him carefully. "It doesn't bother you that I threatened to kill a man?"

"Sure it bothers me. You shouldn't have said it in front of witnesses like that. That was stupid. Still, I've done a lot more stupid shit than that. I've said tons of stuff before I could catch myself. I get mad and there's no telling what I'll say, you know that. I'm not like you, Fraser, the guy with self-control out the wazoo."

"So what are you saying right now, Ray? Do you think I shouldn't have said it?"

"I wish you hadn't said it, but I'm glad you did."

"That makes no sense, Ray."

"Sure it does." Ray leaned in a little closer, his voice lower. "Listen, I'd feel the same way. If someone came after you, I'd want to go after the son of a bitch, no question. But wanting to do something and really doing it are two different things."

"Are you saying you don't think I'd carry through?"

Ray took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, I know you'd do it. It'd be like taking out a mad dog or something, just something that had to be done. That's how you'd see it. And it wouldn't matter that you'd end up in prison, either. But, see, here's the thing." Ray caressed the side of Fraser's face and then kissed him. He pulled back and whispered, "I don't want that."

"Ray —"

Ray put a finger to his lips and shushed him. "No, listen. Hear me out. I'm not saying you can't protect me. Somebody comes through that door and starts in, you have my permission to kill his ass. You see somebody trying to hurt me, or anyone else, and you have a right to protect us. That doesn't mean you go out and kill somebody in cold blood, Fraser, not even if you're out of your head. That's just not you." Fraser tried to scoot back, to pull away, but Ray held his hand tighter. "You couldn't live with yourself if you did that, Fraser."

Fraser used his most stubborn voice to answer. "Yes, I could, Ray."

"No, you couldn't. I know you, and it'd tear you up inside, eat you up and spit you out on the sidewalk. Besides all that, I couldn't stand knowing you were in a jail cell."

"I wouldn't go to jail."

"Sure you would, not right away, but some day. They'd catch you and hang you out to dry. Fuck, Fraser, you being you, you'd probably turn yourself in before it was over and done with. What I'm saying is, I don't want you to risk it."

Fraser turned into a hug and dropped his head against Ray's right shoulder, his voice muffled. "I don't want to live without you, Ray."

"I feel the same way." Ray rubbed his hand up and down Fraser's back, the deep shudder like a shock against Ray's own exhausted body. "It's okay. If we're lucky, that won't be for a while yet."

Fraser lifted his head and kissed Ray gently before he pulled back. "You need to rest."

Ray caught his arm to keep Fraser from leaving. "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"No revenge, no acting crazy if something happens to me."

Fraser shook his head. "I can't promise you that."

"Fraser —"

Fraser held up a hand to cut him off. "No, Ray, I can't."

"You mean you won't."

Fraser countered without even taking a breath. "Could you make the same promise?" Thrown back in his face like that, Ray didn't really know what to say, so he kept quiet. Fraser nodded knowingly, almost smug with what he suspected. He knew as well as Ray did that if anything happened to Fraser, Ray wouldn't let it go, couldn’t if he tried. Eye for an eye, old time justice pretty much said it all. "Now, I suggest you lie down. I need to call and make some adjustments in our flight plans."

Jarred by the sudden change of subject, Ray shook himself to focus. The drugs in his system still made him a little slow on the uptake. "We're still flying out tomorrow?"

"No, we need to wait until Monday at the earliest. Your doctor doesn't want you leaving town for at least 48 hours."

"And then we're out of here?"

Fraser smiled. "Yes, then we're out of here."

"Good, because I've got to tell ya, Chicago sure ain't as friendly as it used to be."

While Fraser stepped to the kitchen to make tea, Ray stretched out on the sofa. Nearly dying turned into a hell of a wake up call and answered an important question. Given a choice, he wanted to keep breathing, keep living his life with Fraser no matter how hard it got to be sometimes. No way did he want to check out and leave Fraser alone. Sure, he might end up a ghost like Fraser's old man, but he might not. He might end up a whole lot of nothing. He sure as hell didn't want to risk it. No, he needed to keep hanging in there and shut down the big pity party going on in his head. Things had to change. He had to stop feeling so damn sorry for himself and be a better partner and friend.

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like some coffee or something to eat before you head to bed?"

"Sure, coffee sounds good. We got any Twinkies left?"

"Twinkies?"

"Yeah, you know, the ones I was hiding from Dief. They're back behind the crackers."

"You should probably eat a sandwich or some soup first."

"Yeah, probably, but I'd rather just have the Twinkies."

Fraser didn't even argue, just smiled and got the junk food down without a single complaint. Maybe Ray wasn't the only one who wasn't happy with how they'd been acting over the last few months, fighting and fussing over little things, things that really didn't matter a hill of beans, but took up way too much time and energy. Smooth sailing and calm waters, that's what they both needed for a change.

"Thanks, Frase."

"You're welcome, Ray."

Fraser sat at the kitchen table rubbing his forehead and going over his lists in the low light of the nighttime apartment. The slight ache behind his eyes nagged but hadn't reached the throbbing stage just yet. He'd done everything he could until morning and yet he still couldn’t sleep. Ray's soft snore came from the bedroom, the door ajar. It gave him great comfort to have Ray safe under his care. He'd do anything to protect him, anything.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Fraser fought off the painful images of Ray's injuries, the stitches, the bandages, the scent of antiseptic lingering on his skin. It'd been a close call, too close. He vowed to himself to be more vigilant. O'Malley would not get a second chance.

"How's the Yank, Son?"

Fraser lifted his head and frowned. His father's ghost didn't solidify, but shimmered lightly in the chair across from him. "He's fine, thanks to you."

"No need to thank me. Glad to help."

Fraser waved a hand at his father whose transparent form faded in and out, never really taking shape as it usually did. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't quite been myself since I saved the Yank. Damn odd, really."

"What did you do, exactly?"

Instead of answering, his father shook his head, his words almost to himself rather than to Fraser. "It's a strange thing being dead, Son. I can see for miles and miles, far better than I ever could alive. In fact, I see things that I never knew existed. I can hear you even when I'm not around and sometimes I even hear Buck while he's out hunting. I can feel the heat of a campfire and smell the rich pine scent of the woods of the Territories. I can make a pot of stew and I swear it tastes far better than I ever made when I was alive. It was like I was all bundled up before, cut off from half my senses. Now everything is much clearer. It's quite extraordinary."

"But you've never been able to touch anyone before."

His father lifted his gaze to Fraser's and nodded. "That's true. I can only touch things on this side."

"This side?"

"This side of the border between life and death."

"So how did you manage —"

"To touch the Yank?"

"Yes."

"I have no idea."

Fraser swallowed hard, trying not to think about what would've happened if his father hadn't bridged that gap between the two worlds. "None?"

"Well, as you know, I've tried before and failed."

Fraser remembered how his father had attempted several times to attack Gerrard, his father's killer, to no avail. "What do you suppose made this time successful?"

"Perhaps it was noble intent. Maybe my wanting to save a life rather than take it makes a difference."

"Perhaps."

"All I know is that I concentrated very hard and I could actually touch his flesh, feel what he felt." Fraser's father's face darkened and his form grew denser, more solid, more like the image Fraser saw on a regular basis. "He's not out of the woods yet, Benton."

Rubbing his eyebrow, Fraser nodded. "I know. We've been warned that there might be another attempt on his life. The FBI has set up guards outside the building and in the stairwell."

"I'm not talking about that kind of danger."

The words sent a chill up and down Fraser's spine. "Then what are you saying?"

"When I touched him, I saw darkness."

"Darkness?"

"In his mind."

Fraser shook his head, trying desperately to explain it away. "He was angry and upset. He'd just learned that an innocent boy for whom he felt responsible had been killed."

"Yes, I know. That was all there as well, but there were other things, Son, more disturbing things."

"Disturbing in what way?"

Again, instead of answering directly, Robert Fraser sat quietly for a second, staring off into the distance as if viewing another world. "After your mother died, I was in a very bad way."

The words struck Fraser like a physical blow. He hadn't expected his father to speak of that time. He never had before. Certainly, he'd written about it to a small degree in his diary, but not to any great extent even there. Fraser cleared his throat and prompted his dad to say more. "I don't remember much about that time."

"Deep inside you remember a great deal about that time, Benton. You hide it from yourself."

"That's ridiculous." Fraser's defenses went up along with his irritation at his father's presumption. He didn't need his father to tell him what he did and didn't remember, especially about a time when his father deserted him, left him alone with his grandparents, people he hardly knew at that point in his life. "I'm not hiding anything from myself. I was only six."

"You were a child who spoke in complete sentences before your first birthday. You remembered whole passages from books by the age of two and could sing all the verses of any song you heard with perfect pitch. In addition to English, you were also conversant in both French and Inuit by the time you were four. You were the brightest child I ever knew, Benton. Your mother and I were both very proud."

Fraser blinked away the sting of tears. "You never said so."

"And that's what you remember the most. You don't remember how we walked together in the woods, how I taught you to survive in a harsh world."

Anger fired his words. "Don't kid yourself, Dad, I remember. You took me in the woods and left me alone in the dark. I was just a child."

"You were never out of my sight and you made your first fire."

"Because I was afraid of the dark."

"I was cruel to be kind, son."

"Cruel is the operative word there, Dad."

Fraser's father paused and then shrugged. "I honestly did the best I could, Benton. I taught you the way I'd been taught. It's what I knew, what I thought was right."

"That might be true, but that didn't make it any less hurtful."

"Which is why you push away the pain and bury it. The pain is still there."

Fraser bristled, uncomfortable with his father's awareness of his inner struggles. "What's your point? What does any of this have to do with Ray?"

"The Yank survived a terrible evil, Son, there's no doubt about that. He's got grit, real fortitude, but he's still deeply troubled."

"Ray's very strong, stronger than most people think."

"Which is all very admirable, but grief and anger do strange things to a man. After your mother died, I didn't think clearly for a long time. I know you don't believe this, but I took you to your grandparents because I was afraid of what might happen if I didn't."

"I don't understand."

"It shames me to say this now, but I was half out of my mind, Benton. I spent my whole life as a Mountie and yet I couldn't protect my own wife, a woman I loved more than myself. I still miss her even now. I keep hoping to see her, but so far I'm still alone." His father touched his hand to his head, his voice shaky. "When I lost her, I nearly did something unforgivable."

"Unforgivable?"

"There are many ways to end suffering, son. I considered each and every one during that time."

Fraser sat back, both hands palm down and pressed hard against the flat surface of the tabletop. There was no way his father could mean what he was saying. "You thought about suicide?"

"Yes. The pain was nearly unbearable."

"And you're saying that Ray is thinking the same thing?"

"I'm saying he questions his purpose, his worth. Just touching him today brought it all back, that time in my life when I took risks I shouldn't have taken, a time when I gave in to despair." His father met his gaze, his eyes misted over. Apparently, men still cried in the afterlife, burdened by the pain they forged in this one. His father's voice jarred him with his confession. "It was a lapse of spirit, Son, unforgivable. Perhaps I'm paying for it now."

Finding it hard to imagine his father in such a state, Fraser tried to remember. Bits and pieces fell into place, the way his father rarely smiled or joked, how he never touched him until Fraser was nearly ten, and how his grandmother called his dad sick at heart when she thought Fraser couldn’t hear her. He never understood it at the time, but now he did. It put a huge chunk of his childhood in a whole new light. "I'm glad you didn't so anything rash, Dad."

"Thank you for saying so, Benton. Now it's time to look to the Yank."

"What can I do?"

"Take him home."

"But Ray's home is here in Chicago."

"His home is with you, Son. He needs to heal. He can't do that here."

Overwhelmed, not sure what to believe, Fraser stood up and walked to the bedroom door, peeking in at his sleeping partner. Swallowing back his own fear of the truth, he turned to find his father gone. Fraser's heart sank. He still had so many questions, but he realized deep down it was Ray who had the answers. At the back of his mind, he'd known all along, seen the signs of depression, but ignored them, explained them away and just tried to be patient.

Going into the bedroom, Fraser finished undressing in the dark. He wanted to move in behind Ray, to hold him, to make him feel safe, but he couldn't. Ever since the attack, Ray often panicked when approached or held from behind, especially in his sleep. Fraser slid under the sheet, his naked body turned away from Ray. In a matter of seconds, Ray automatically shifted over and spooned in behind Fraser, his wounded arm draped around his waist and his chin nestled against the crook of Fraser's neck. Ray always did that, always wrapped himself around Fraser. It was one of the things Fraser liked best about sleeping with Ray, that connection, that touch that fed his starving heart.

In the morning they had to talk, but for the moment, Fraser closed his eyes and drank in the heat and love of his partner's body to block out the harsh reality of his father's words.

Ray ached up and down his left side, tight pinches and biting reminders of the previous day's events. He got up slowly, holding his hand to his eye. The intense burning and pain made him hurry to the living room before he scratched it out. "Fraser?"

"Good morning, Ray."

"I need that stuff for my eye. It's killing me."

Fraser got up from the kitchen table and motioned to the sofa. "Have a seat."

Still cupping his hand over his face, Ray's head throbbed even worse with the movement. He fought down the return of the late night Twinkies as his belly gave him its good morning-fuck you routine. "God, I don't feel so hot."

"Tilt your head back, Ray. These drops should help."

Ray followed instructions as Fraser applied both the antibiotic and pain ointments carefully, his hands warm and gentle, the relief almost immediate. Ray blinked a few times and then slipped the patch back in place to block out the sharp stabs of light. "Thanks. You do that pretty good. You've got a soft touch."

"Thank you and you're welcome." Fraser stepped back to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and some pills. "You should take these."

Ray held up a hand and shook his head. "Give me a minute or two to let everything settle down. My stomach's a little rocky."

"How's your vision?"

"Still blurry, but not as bad. I'll probably take off the patch later on."

"And the pain in general?"

"So-so." Ray stopped the inventory of his own ills to check out his partner. He frowned at the dark circles under the eyes and the solemn expression. Fraser hadn’t shaved yet and the whiskers shadowed his already pale skin. "You get any sleep at all?"

"Some."

"As in not much, huh?"

"I had things on my mind, Ray."

"Yeah, and having to wake me up every couple of hours didn't help."

"With a concussion, however mild, it's important to —"

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. You want to make sure I don't croak in my sleep, which considering the alternatives wouldn't be the worst way to go."

Fraser's face got even paler and Ray immediately regretted saying that stuff out loud. "Ray, it bothers me when you talk so cavalierly about something so serious."

"Sorry, I'm just feeling lousy this morning. Forget about it." Ray motioned for his pills and changed the subject. "So what am I taking here?"

"An antibiotic and a mild analgesic."

"Analwhatsis?"

"Pain killer."

"As in what, Percocet?"

"The doctor prescribed Tylenol 3 this time. With your head injury, he didn't want to give you anything quite as strong as the Percocet you've had previously. That should be enough to temporarily offset any discomfort from the cuts."

"Offset is good." Ray popped the medicine in his mouth and then washed it down with the water. He put the glass on the table and then sat back. He took a good look at Fraser and didn't like what he saw. "What's wrong?"

"You've been injured, Ray. We have FBI agents just outside guarding us in case someone tries to kill you again. I would think that would be enough."

"I know that, but what's wrong wrong. I mean, I know you Fraser. I know that look."

"What look is that, Ray?"

"Don't play around. What's buggin' you and don't say nothing, because a lie ain't a great way to start the day."

Fraser didn't answer right away. Instead, he got up and went to the kitchen table and brought back a packet of photos. He dropped them on the coffee table and then sat back down in the seat next to the sofa, waiting.

Fuck.

Ray knew what Fraser must be thinking. "Look, I can explain."

"Please do."

"I took those on a bad day."

Fraser leaned over and pulled the pictures from the envelope and spread them out like a deck of cards. "A bad day, Ray? These were the last pictures you took back in April. You told me that they'd been lost at the developers, right after your camera stopped working."

"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied."

"No, you shouldn't have, but that's not what concerns me."

Oh, yeah, Ray figured that out. He picked up one of the photos, swallowing back his own reaction to the content. "It's a lousy picture."

"It's not a lousy picture, Ray, not technically, and it's certainly evocative."

Ray glanced up. "Evocative?"

"Suggestive. It forces one to consider the unpleasant realities of urban life."

Studying the slack face of the drunk sprawled on the sidewalk covered in his own vomit, Ray nodded sadly. "It does that."

Fraser picked up three more of the photos from the stack and dropped them right in front of Ray. "As do these."

Each one showed a more bleak and gut-wrenching view of the homeless, of people at the bottom of the food chain of fate. Bag ladies and old men with battered faces and empty eyes stared back. The one that haunted Ray the most contained the portrait of a blond girl no more than twelve, her hair matted, her face scarred and dirty as she picked through the dumpster behind one of Chicago's finest hotels. It reminded him of Stella, only a Stella who never got a break, never had money or a home or anybody who gave a shit about her one way or the other.

Ray remembered in detail the day it happened, the way the girl took all the money in his wallet with a smile and offered to blow him without a rubber. He hadn't taken her into the station, just gave her the name of a good shelter before she waltzed off and he puked his guts out in the alley. It was the day he'd put his camera away and hadn't touched it again since. He'd only gotten the pictures developed out of habit. When he'd seen the results, he'd packed them with the camera and told Fraser they'd been lost. He never wanted anyone to see those awful images, most of all Fraser, someone who mostly saw the good things in the world. Why rub his nose in the fact that he was so dead wrong?

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to know why you lied to me."

"I don't know."

"I think you do. I think you didn't want me to see the pictures because you didn't think I'd understand what they mean to you."

Still holding the picture of the notStella, Ray looked up and met worried eyes. "What do you mean, mean to me? They don't mean anything. They're just pictures."

"These are all about despair and lost hope. Did you think I might suspect that they represent how you feel?"

Swallowing hard, Ray bit his lower lip and dropped his head briefly. "It's not just the way I feel, Fraser. It's the way things are. It's like we do the job, but what changes? People are still living on the streets, starving, getting killed. It's ugly, but that's life."

"And you thought I wouldn't understand that? I see it every day, Ray, the same as you. We both do what we can."

"But it's never enough."

"And it never will be. I've come to accept that." Fraser paused, wet his lip. "But, Ray —"

"Ray what? Ray, look the other way, pretend like it's not there, play like it doesn't matter that kids are dying in the streets, being raped by pimps and maggots who could give a shit about who they are, what they want?" Ray tossed the picture down, the anger running through him like a runaway train. "I feel sick inside, Fraser, sick to death because of all the shit that goes on and there's not a damn thing I can do about it." Ray's body shook with the rage, the fury that had nowhere to go.

Fraser got up and moved beside him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders carefully to draw Ray into a hug. Ray melted into the embrace, his eyes squeezed shut as he drank in the heat of those arms. It took several minutes to stop shivering, but Fraser held him, didn't let go. After a few minutes, Ray cleared his throat, his voice raw and choked. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Ray stayed put, not lifting his head, just whispering into Fraser's T-shirt. The strong heartbeat sounded like a drum, steady and worth hearing. "For lying. For being a jerk."

"I forgive you for lying, but you're not a jerk, Ray. I know you're upset about the terrible things you see while doing your duty and in just living here in the city. Believe me, it was quite a shock to me when I first came here."

Ray pulled away enough to see Fraser's face, but he didn't leave the hug. "You don't have that stuff up North?"

"To some degree there will always be people who aren't protected by the community. I fear overpopulation and the poverty it creates will lead to more of the situations we see here. However, I think taking those pictures says a lot about you."

"Yeah, it says I'm as bad as all the other leeches who use people. I guess that's another reason I didn't want you to see them. It's like I invaded their privacy or something. I didn't feel right about it."

Fraser shook his head as he argued. "You're not using people when you take their pictures, Ray. You're telling a story that needs to be told. Perhaps at some point, you might even consider an exhibition for charity."

"Are you out of your mind or what? Nobody wants to see those. They want the pretty stuff, the where the deer and the antelope roam stuff."

"Why not give them both?"

Ray pulled away far enough to run a hand through his hair. The serious bed head came from the stuff they'd used to wash the blood out instead of his regular shampoo and gel. He needed a shower, but the stitches made that a whole wait and see deal. Then he saw the pictures again, ashamed he'd taken them. Just because people lived on the streets didn't mean he had a right to make a peepshow of their pain. "Look, nobody's seeing these. If it were up to me, you wouldn't, either."

"But I'm glad I saw them."

"Speaking of which, what were you doing in the back of the closet in the middle of the night anyway?"

"I was getting your camera to see if I could have it repaired when I discovered it wasn't broken. I also wanted to pack your drawing supplies to take with us to Canada."

Ray groaned and leaned forward, his head in his hands. He remembered the last set of watercolors he'd done, the dull greys and muddy browns he'd used to paint the world as he saw it. He had a whole pad of nothing but drunks and hookers, empty skies and a whole lot of cold, dreary winter. He'd stopped the whole art thing after he sketched and painted his last crime scene, a gruesome double homicide that gave him even more nightmares on top of the ones he already had. "You looked at that, too, huh?"

"I'm afraid so." Fraser's hand touched Ray's right shoulder. "I wasn't prying, Ray."

"I know that."

"It's just that your art, well, it says a lot about your state of mind."

"Which sucks."

"Apparently." Fraser's hand slipped down his back, rubbing and stroking his skin. "I should have been more alert."

"Come on, Fraser. You're as alert as hell. I didn’t want you to see it."

"And you didn't want Dr. Collier to see it, either. I noticed the date of the pictures. You stopped seeing her around that time."

"Yeah, I know. I didn't want to deal with it, so I didn't. I just packed it away and did my job, day after day, humping along. We were doing okay, you and me. I figured if I could just lock it all down, it'd go away or at least it wouldn't keep biting me in the ass every time I turned around."

"But it hasn't gone away."

"I noticed."

"I wish you'd told me."

"I didn't want to."

Fraser's hand stopped moving and rested at the small of his back. "Why?"

"You were doing so good with Reese, I didn't want to spoil it, make it harder. You don't need my shit on top of yours."

After a moment, Fraser whispered, "Ray, look at me."

"Don't want to."

"Ray…"

Reluctantly, Ray turned his good eye on Fraser. "What?"

"I love you. Whatever shit you have, as you call it, is mine to share."

"But it's not fair."

"It's been my experience that life isn't always fair, Ray. In fact, if life were fair, as I understand fair to be, the world would be a very different place. For one, there wouldn't be people living the way your pictures depict and young men like Martin Jones would still be alive. For another, you would never have been attacked by a man like Clooney. The only thing that makes it bearable is having one another to depend on, to lean on, to trust. Essentially, it's about sharing our love and relying on the other for support."

Ray didn't even try to stop the first tear or even the second as Fraser's arms drew him into another hug. "I'm sorry."

"Don't hide from me, Ray."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm trying not to."

"Then try harder."

Ray nodded against Fraser's chest, his eyes squeezed shut, hoping he could break the lifelong habit of keeping his guard up even with the people who loved him. "I want to."

"Good. That's a start of a kind then."

Ray wandered in from the bathroom as Fraser hung up the phone. "Who was that?"

"Turnbull."

"Is he bringing Dief back?"

"In a bit." Ray moved closer and lifted Fraser's chin, not happy with that gloomy expression. "What's up?" Fraser pecked Ray's lips with his own and then went to sit on the sofa still looking like somebody had kicked a whole litter of puppies. Then he sighed, a big whopper of a sigh. "Jeez. Fraser, what's up, what's wrong?"

"Inspector Thatcher's back in town."

"Ow."

"Ow, indeed."

"Oh, I get it. So I guess she didn't think Turnbull could hack taking charge, huh?"

"That's one possibility."

"She's pissed?"

"Quite likely."

It was more like a sure bet to Ray's way of thinking, but he didn't say that. Instead, he settled gingerly on the couch next to Fraser, being careful not to jar his arm which had taken to aching with a pretty steady rhythm. It kind of matched the throb in his upper right leg, the leg that kept reminding him that he couldn't ignore physical therapy forever without a little payback. The medicine took the edge off, but didn't turn off the pain completely. At least he still had a pretty clear head. "What did Turnbull say exactly?"

"I had the distinct impression he couldn't speak freely."

"Ice Queen was in earshot, huh?"

"Apparently."

"Well, in a way this is good."

Fraser turned his head, his brow wrinkled and creased, not the least bit convinced. "How's that, Ray?"

"Well, she's a kickass, take charge kind of lady. Turnbull won't have to freak out and she's doing what she likes to do best."

"Which is?"

"Showing everybody who's boss. Hell, she should be in hog heaven."

"Hog heaven?"

"Yeah, you know, on cloud nine, happy as a clam. Sure, she'll bitch and moan about it, but you said she didn't get the position she applied for, right? Well, this will be a way to show herself she's still got a show to run. She's the kind of woman who gets off when she has to take over when she sees other people aren't up to snuff."

Fraser tugged at his ear as he considered Ray's point of view. "And you're saying Turnbull and I aren't up to a prerequisite level of snuff, as it were?"

"Not in her book, nope. You've both got a life beyond the uniform, something she ain't got. She's jealous as hell, but she'd never admit it."

Studying him for a moment, Fraser's lips thinned slightly. "You amaze me with your insight sometimes, Ray."

"Yeah? Well, that's me, insight Ray."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being my life beyond the uniform."

Ray thumped his arm affectionately. He loved this kind of quiet, good-natured, good buddy thing that went on between them when they took a timeout from bickering. "No problem. So, when's Renny coming over?"

"Later this evening. He and Peter are bringing Diefenbaker. He also offered to bring dinner as well."

"Dinner?"

"Pizza, I believe."

"You tell him no anchovies?"

Fraser smiled and relaxed. "He's well aware of your preferences, Ray. Pineapple and ham, no anchovies."

"Sounds good."

"Are you hungry now? I can fix something. It'll be several hours before Peter finishes his shift."

Ray shook his head. "No, I'm cool." Having removed the facial bandages earlier, he touched a finger to the cut just over his eye. Ten tiny black stitches lined the bruised, slightly puckered skin. He hated how it scabbed up like that, but guessed it was better than seeping and getting even more gross. "You know I vaguely remember Pete being there yesterday."

Fraser nodded, his face grave again. "He treated you at the scene."

"It all happened so fast. When your dad jerked me sideways, I hit my head on the door and kind of lost track. Everything was going in and out and my ears were ringing like crazy from the blast, but I do remember Pete telling me to hang in there. I think it freaked him out a little to see me like that."

"I'm sure it did. He's a professional, but one still doesn't expect an acquaintance to be the victim of a crime."

"True." Running a hand through his hair, Ray complained, "I need to wash this stuff, but I can't get the stitches wet."

Fraser cupped the back of Ray's head, his fingers spread out through the hair. "I can wash it for you, Ray."

"You want to?"

"I'd be honored."

"Honored, huh?" Ray teased, but he knew how much Fraser liked washing his hair. He couldn't complain since he enjoyed it a hell of a lot himself. "Sure, okay, but how? I mean, you usually wash it in the shower or sink."

"We'll manage. Stay put and I'll get what we need. Would you like the pine-scented shampoo or Tropical Splash?"

"You pick."

"Pine it is."

"Figures."

"Because?"

"It reminds you of home, don't deny it."

Fraser grinned as walked down the hall and called over his shoulder. "I will confess, I do prefer it to mangoes and kiwi."

"Because mangoes aren't plentiful in the Yukon. Gotcha."

In no time at all, Fraser returned with shampoo, conditioner, gel, and several towels. He talked while he moved everything off the end table. "It's not really a matter of being plentiful, Ray. They're tropical fruits. I never sampled either until I came to Chicago."

"Yeah? What about pineapple? You sampled that before, right?"

"The canned variety, certainly, but not fresh. On rare occasions my grandmother would experiment and try something different. She would bring a few cans home when they were on sale, much to my grandfather's consternation. He was strictly what one might refer to as a moose and turnips man. Personally, I found it a refreshing change to try something exotic from some strange place I could only imagine."

Ray scratched his head as he watched Fraser move around the kitchen, filling the pitcher with warm water and putting a rubber tub on the end table. He tried his best to figure it out, but he finally had to ask. "Fraser, what are you doing?"

"Well, I thought you could stretch out on your back on the sofa with your head just over the sidearm. I can wash your hair and then rinse it into the tub. That way I won't be as likely to get your stitches wet."

"Makes sense." Ray wondered why the hell he never thought of that. The pain pill must have muddled his thinking.

Using some extra pillows to prop himself up, Ray stretched out enough so that his head was over the tub. Fraser put a hand under his head to help support it. "Relax, Ray. It won't take long."

"That's okay. Take all the time you want. I don't mind."

Fraser proceeded to do just that, wetting his hair first, then adding just a small amount of shampoo. He massaged gently with one hand while the other held his head up, easing the strain on Ray's neck. Then he rinsed a few times with the warm water. Conditioner came next, and again Fraser used his fingertips to rub and give Ray the deluxe package. He rinsed and then used one of the towels to dry off most of the excess before it dripped down Ray's neck. The whole thing felt great, just what the doctor ordered and not a wet stitch in sight.

Ray sat up and Fraser stood behind the couch, continuing to dry the hair before he added just a dab of gel. Ray chuckled as Fraser took such care to work it all in evenly and then spike his hair just the way Ray liked it.

"What's funny, Ray?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. Who knew you had a whole 'nother career, if this Mountie thing doesn't work out?"

"What career would that be?"

"As a hairdresser."

Fraser snorted and then finished off Ray's do. "I hardly think I'm any competition for Lisa. She does your hair much better than I can."

"Color and cut, yeah, but she's got nothing on you when it comes to the whole wash and style thing."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Looks like I wasn't the only one."

Fraser didn't hide his grin as he cleaned up, putting things away, always the tidy guy. "I can't deny it. I rather enjoy the tactile experience."

"Tactile?" Ray frowned, confused. "What's washing my hair got to do with some ancient bird?"

Fraser stood up straight after putting the rubber tub under the sink. "Ancient bird?"

"You know tactile, those prehistoric flying dinosaurs."

"Are you by chance referring to a pterodactyl?"

Ray's face lit up. "Yeah, that, like in the movies."

Drying his hands, Fraser settled beside Ray, his arm stretched across the back. "As far as I know, it's got nothing to do with washing your hair. I meant tactile as in touchable. I like touching you, Ray."

"No ancient birds, huh?"

"Well, actually, the pterodactyl was a reptile."

"Like a snake?"

"Yes, though more like a lizard."

"I hate snakes."

"I know." Fraser grinned with amusement. "I like your hair, Ray. It looks like you again."

Careful not to mess up all Fraser's hard work which wasn't quite dry yet, Ray barely touched the top edge of his hair. "Yeah, it's bound to be a lot better than that nasty stuff they used in the hospital."

Fraser took a deep breath, his eyes closed. "It smells better, too."

Ray leaned in and relaxed against Fraser, his head on his shoulder. "Like home, huh?"

"Yes, Ray, like home."

Fraser went to the door at the sound of the first knock and a familiar voice. "It's Crenshaw. Open up."

Speaking softly, Fraser let the FBI agent in. "Please keep your voice down. Ray's sleeping."

Crenshaw nodded and adjusted his volume. "Sorry. How's he doing?"

"Actually, quite well considering his injuries and the situation in general." I assume you're here to give me an update." Normally Fraser would be polite, offering a seat and maybe tea or coffee. Instead, he stood with his arms crossed tightly around his chest and waited. He didn't want Crenshaw there any longer than necessary.

"You assume correctly." Crenshaw stared at him and cocked his head. "You look a little rough, Constable."

"It's been a difficult time as you can imagine."

"Still, I don't think I've ever seen you not clean-shaven."

"I don't believe you came here to discuss my personal grooming, Special Agent."

Crenshaw nodded, his lips thinned slightly with amusement. "True enough."

Fraser's temper flared at the man's casual attitude. "You find something humorous about this situation?"

"No, not about the situation, but I have to admit you surprise me."

"In what way do I surprise you?"

"Well, the threat yesterday was a real eye-opener. That's a move I didn't see coming. Now you're being surly and looking a little worse for wear. I guess that just makes me think that you're human after all. Watching you over the last few months, I had my doubts."

"I assure you I'm very human, and while I’m trying to be patient, I'd appreciate it if you'd get to the point."

"The point is, I talked to O'Malley. Of course, he denied any knowledge of the hit on Kowalski even though we've got the sworn statement of the shooter that he was hired by O'Malley." Crenshaw paused before he added, "However, O'Malley did say something strange when I told him what you said."

"What was that?"

"He said he had nothing to gain from going after Kowalski in the future and he wanted me to ask you to call off your father."

Fraser stiffened. "My father?"

"Yeah, your father. Isn't he dead?"

"Yes."

"So, Constable, what do you suppose he's talking about?"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow as he wondered what his father might have gotten up to given his most recent penchant for being protective. Whatever it was, it had O'Malley spooked and Fraser found that perversely pleasing. "Perhaps he's going to introduce an insanity plea."

"You mean, like saying he sees dead people?"

"Perhaps."

"Maybe, but I honestly think he thought you'd know what he was talking about."

Fraser lied with a straight face, his eyes challenging and trained on Crenshaw. "I don't."

"Not even a clue? It's not some code or something?"

"Code or something for what?"

Crenshaw studied him for a long minute before he finally shook his head and kept any other suspicions to himself. "Look, forget I said that. I'm tired. This case has been difficult on a lot of levels, but we have enough on this guy to put him away and throw away the key. Judge Wallace wouldn’t even grant bail after he heard the charges, so at least whatever he's going to try to pull, he'll have to do it from a jail cell. His phone calls and all meetings except with his lawyer are monitored."

Nodding, pleased with the development, Fraser asked, "Are you going to be pulling our guards?"

"No, not yet. Better safe than sorry. We'll keep those in place until you two take off."

"Thank you. By the way, I should mention, my colleague Constable Turnbull and his partner are coming by shortly to return Diefenbaker. I hope that won't be a problem."

"Shouldn't be. I'll mention it to the guys to be sure. The wolf should make them both easy to spot."

"I appreciate that."

Crenshaw hesitated, obviously worrying over something else he needed to say. Fraser prompted, "Is there some other issue to address, Special Agent?"

"You know, I also deal with the Vecchio undercover case."

"Yes, I know."

"Like you, I've got people above me. Some of the decisions and concerns about how things are done, they're not mine."

Fraser frowned, wary about the direction of the new discussion. "Decisions and concerns about what?"

The agent refused to meet his gaze. "I've got nothing against gays, okay? This isn't coming from me. It's just that the Director in charge thinks that you and Kowalski living together while he's under as Vecchio hurts the operation. They've asked me to tell you they want you to move out when you guys get back from Canada."

Taking a deep breath, Fraser fought to keep his rising temper in check. "And if I don't?"

"They told me to tell you that they're considering calling your government to get them to order you to comply with their request."

Amazed at the audacity of such a ploy, Fraser shook his head. "You expect me to believe that the FBI would actually contact the Canadian government, risking exposure along the countless channels that would entail, just to get me to move out of an apartment where we've been living together for over six months because of the appearance of a homosexual impropriety?"

Crenshaw scratched his head and shrugged. "I'm just passing along a message."

"The FBI didn't abort the operation despite two vicious attacks on my partner. They didn't end it when it became obvious that O'Malley was, and still is, a very real threat to Ray Vecchio's cover, whatever that might be. Quite frankly, I have a hard time believing the FBI is more concerned with our living arrangements than the actual safety of its operatives."

"Like I said, this isn't coming from me, Constable. I made the same arguments and so did Captain Turner along with Lt. Welsh. Plus, Kowalski's already threatened to pull out if we push this. Believe me, I've said all that. They still want you to move. I'm sorry."

Instead of being incensed, Fraser felt a growing calm at knowing exactly what he needed to do. Leaving Ray simply wasn't an option. "You tell your superiors that should they insist on maintaining such a stance, they'll have to follow through with contacting my government. However, I should warn you that if the RMCP orders me to comply, then I'll resign as will Ray. I don't believe that would be in the best interest of your operation."

Crenshaw's head jerked back a little, but he kept his face passive. "You'd resign?"

"Yes."

"You can't be serious."

"I assure you that I'm very serious."

"Constable, I admire your loyalty, but would you really give up your career over this? We're not saying when the operation's over that you two can't live wherever and however you want. We're just saying that for now, it's hurting the operation. I thought you Mounties were all about duty and being for the cause of justice."

The low blow brought Fraser several steps closer to Crenshaw. He stared into the man's eyes, his emotions high and his voice tight. Fraser knew where he stood. "If I thought for a moment this had anything to do with duty and justice, I'd move out tonight. However, we both know that's not the case here. This is more about bigotry than about protecting Ray Vecchio's or my partner's covers."

Crenshaw swallowed hard and stepped back. "Okay, even if that's true, and I'm not saying it is, it doesn't change the fact that I'm getting pressure to follow through."

"Tell your superiors I'm not moving. They can decide what's more important, discrimination or the overall success of the operation."

"That's your final decision?"

"Yes."

Nodding, Crenshaw sighed deeply. "I told them you'd say that."

"Tell them again."

"I will." Crenshaw bit his lower lip before he added, "You guys take a break, go enjoy yourself. I'll work on it. Hopefully, by the time you get back, it'll be okay." Crenshaw hesitated and then frowned as though he'd just thought of something terrible. "You guys are coming back in a couple of weeks, right?"

"That's our plan at the moment, yes."

"At the moment? Are you saying that the plan could change?"

"I'm saying it depends on if I think it's safe for Ray to return."

Crenshaw held up a hand, his face more pink all of a sudden. "Wait a minute. You can't just take off and not come back. Kowalski's still under as Vecchio. That hasn't changed."

"Then I suggest you make sure that O'Malley is no longer a threat and that your superiors understand that Ray and I are partners in this."

"And if I don’t, this leave turns into what, a getaway?"

Fraser tilted his head. "As Ray would say, we're going by ear."

"Going by ear? You mean playing by ear?"

"Precisely. Sometimes retreat is the best recourse." Fraser walked to the door, his hand on the knob. "You have the number in Yellowknife to keep me apprised of the situation here, Special Agent."

Crenshaw shook his head in disbelief. "You have no idea what kind of position you've put me in."

Flashing on Gerrard's trial, Fraser remembered keenly the contempt directed at him for breaking the code of silence by arresting a fellow officer. His betrayal of the unspoken rule had changed his life. At the time he considered it a curse and a failure of some sort on his part, but soon realized it as a fine lesson and a blessing. Because of it, he'd formed a deep friendship with Ray Vecchio and found his true love, Ray Kowalski. Taking a deep breath, Fraser kept his voice even. "On the contrary, I understand exactly how difficult it is to go against what's expected. However, it's been my experience that difficulty often tests the mettle of the man. Perhaps this is your test."

Crenshaw shook his head in frustration as Fraser opened the door. "You're a strange man, Constable."

"So I've been told on more than one occasion."

"Most people would be bothered by that."

"I'm not."

"No, I can see that. You wear it like a badge of honor."

Considering it was the truth, Fraser didn't bother to argue. "Good day, Special Agent." As soon as he shut the door, Fraser turned to find Ray just coming out of the bedroom, still half-asleep. "Ray, how are you feeling?"

Ray complained grumpily. "What's all the chatter? You talking to your dad again?"

"No, Special Agent Crenshaw dropped by to say that the judge denied O'Malley bail."

Ray came over and wrapped his arms around Fraser's waist, his eyes still closed. "That's great, glad to hear it. Anything else?"

"Nothing to be concerned about, no. He'll call us in Yellowknife when he knows more."

Turning his head, Ray kissed the side of Fraser's neck. "What time are Pete and Renny coming over?"

"In less than an hour. You should get dressed."

Ray rubbed Fraser's cheek with his fingertips. "You going to shave or give Pete and Renny a thrill."

Fraser eyed Ray like he'd lost his mind. "A thrill?"

"You look hot with whiskers."

Snorting with amusement, Fraser kissed the top of Ray's head and then led him back toward the bedroom. "You've had a head injury. You're befuddled."

"I still know hot when I see it."

Fraser gently shoved him toward the bed. "Rest. You can change later."

Ray didn't argue, just slipped back under the sheets for a few more minutes of shuteye. Meanwhile, Fraser went to shave, thinking that he might let his beard grow out when they got to the cabin.

Ray leaned forward, staring in the mirror, eying the bruises and cuts on his face. God, he hated looking like an extra in some really bad horror flick on late night cable. He ran his fingers over his whiskery chin and sighed in disgust and frustration. No point in using a razor, not until some of the nicks healed.

Going back in the bedroom, he found Fraser sitting on the end of the bed, freshly showered and shaved, looking better than ever. Ray smiled. "You're hot without a beard."

Fraser chuckled, glancing up as he finished putting on his left boot. "I thought you said —"

"Either way, beard or no beard, you look hot."

"Ah."

"More like ahhhh."

Fraser shook his head, still grinning in amusement. "You really do have a head injury."

"If that means I get to say what I think when I think it, yeah."

Puzzling over the words for a moment, Fraser frowned and patted the mattress beside him. As Ray sat down, Fraser asked, "Does that mean you expurgate what you say to me, Ray?"

"Do I expurwhatsis?"

"Censor, abridge, clean up. Do you filter what you reveal to me about what you're thinking?"

Ray didn't meet those intense eyes, his stomach suddenly tight. "Well, yeah, I try to keep the four-letter stuff cleaned up when I can. I know how you hate when I cuss, even though I slip up sometimes."

Fraser shook his head and persisted. "That's not what I'm talking about. Do you feel like you have to edit yourself when you're telling me what you think or feel?"

Hesitating, Ray wasn't sure exactly what to say. Fraser's serious expression darkened. "Your delay in response would seem to answer the question."

"Hold up, Fraser, that's not fair."

"What's not fair?"

"Jumping the gun like that. Sure, I don't always tell you every little thing that runs through my head. You'd go nuts with all the screwy stuff I come up with. Hell, I don't even want to know sometimes."

"But, Ray —"

"Let me finish." Ray held up a hand, working on figuring out how to phrase things without Fraser getting all worked up and pissed off. "Look, I tell you the important stuff, mostly."

"Mostly?" Fraser's voice went up on the end of the word, a dead giveaway that he still wasn't happy with Ray's explanation.

"Yeah, mostly. Besides, you can't tell me you always tell me everything, either."

"I most certainly do."

"Do not. I mean, if you did that, I'd know why I'm still calling you Fraser even though we've been sleeping together for six months."

Stunned, Fraser straightened and then stood up as if slapped, shaking his head to clear it. He crossed his arms, his voice strained and his posture defensive. "What's that got to do with you keeping things from me?"

"Turn that around. What are you keeping from me?"

Fraser closed his eyes, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He spoke softly, the confession obviously painful. "I'm not keeping anything from you, Ray. I suppose one could say it's simply habit. It's just… well, it feels safer when you call me Fraser."

Surprised, Ray shook his head in confusion. "Safer? I don't get that. How is that safer than me calling you Ben or Benton or even Benny?"

Fraser's eyes popped open, his response faster and stronger than Ray expected. "Not Benny. Please. I always hated that name. I let Ray use it, because, well, quite frankly, it was just easier than arguing about it. As for Benton, well, that's what my father and my grandparents called me. I prefer Ben."

"Then why can't I call you that?"

Swallowing hard, Fraser sat back down on the bed again. He took Ray's hand, but he didn't look up. "You can."

Ray squeezed Fraser's hand and then lifted his face to meet his gaze. "You feel safe enough now to let me do that?"

Using only his fingertips, Fraser traced a line along Ray's jaw slowly, studying his face, taking a long time to answer. "Yes, I think so."

"You think so?"

"You have to understand something."

Ray's heart tightened at the strain in his partner's voice, the thin lines around Fraser's mouth and eyes. "Understand what?"

"The last person, the last intimate person, who called me Ben betrayed me. It's been difficult to get past that."

Swallowing hard, Ray forced himself to say the name out loud, a name that tasted like ashes on his tongue. "Victoria?"

Fraser closed his eyes and nodded solemnly. "Yes."

Fuck. Ray understood, thinking he should've figured it out sooner. He leaned in for a brief kiss before he whispered, "I'm not Victoria, Ben. I'm Ray Kowalski. I love you. I'd rather cut my heart out with a dull spoon than betray you."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Ben pulled back slightly, his eyes now open, the black at the center growing. A tongue flicked out and wet his lower lip. "I didn't mean to keep a barrier between us. I do trust you, Ray, I do, and I love you, too."

The whole time he talked, Ray let his hands wander, each touch more arousing, more addictive. He loved exploring this man, the face, the skin, the muscles, the whole package. His body tingled with expectation, and want, and a whole boatload of gotta have it now. "So I can call you Ben and you won't freak out? You sure about that? You sure you're ready? You trust me enough for that?"

"No, I won't freak out. In fact, I think I'd like it."

"You do, huh?"

"Yes, very much so." The words came out breathy, kind of like Fraser just ran a race and broke the ribbon for first place.

Getting all worked up, holding Ben's face with both hands, Ray leaned in for another kiss just as the doorbell rang. Ray snapped in frustration. "Fuck."

Fraser grinned as he reluctantly pulled back. "As soon as they're gone, it would be my pleasure."

Ray groaned, his growing erection not happy. "I always knew Renny had lousy timing. Why don't we grab Dief and send the guys home with the pizza?"

"That would be terribly impolite, Ray, especially since they've been so kind about caring for Diefenbaker and offering to bring supper."

"All right, all right, I get the damn picture." Grumbling, Ray headed to the bathroom to save himself the embarrassment of answering the door with a hard on. Fraser headed to the living room, his mood a lot lighter than just a few moments before.

Ray finished off the second slice of pizza and sat back, more relaxed since he had his belly full. "That's good stuff."

From the floor, Pete nodded in agreement as he wiped his mouth on a napkin. "Tony outdid himself, that's for sure."

Ben sat beside Ray, his arm stretched out over the back of the sofa. "I'm surprised you were able to persuade him to use the pineapple. The last few times we've ordered, we've had to resort to putting it on and then baking it ourselves."

Renny piped in proudly. "Oh, Peter was very persuasive, sir. He told Tony it was a combination get well and bon voyage pizza for Ray."

Pete smiled wider. "Yeah, well, the extra ten bucks didn't hurt."

Ray laughed. "I'll bet. Tony's save the pizza campaign goes right down the toilet whenever you boost the price. Thanks. It hit the spot. I owe ya."

"No problem."

Pete played with the edge of the box and drank the last of his Sprite. Nobody mentioned the absence of beer on the menu. "Look, Ray, about your car."

Ray held up a hand and shook his head. "Don't. I know. It's a mess. I haven't seen it, but I know they shot out the window and side panel."

"Yeah, I know. I was there." Before Ray could say anything else, Pete continued, "What I was going to say, is that you scared the shit out of me when we drove up and I saw your car all blasted up." Pete closed his eyes as if visualizing the scene in his head. "I swear, I thought you were a goner."

Renny touched Pete's arm, his voice soft with concern. "Peter, perhaps Ray doesn't want to talk about the incident."

Ray interrupted. "It's okay, Renny. I can talk about it, well, a little bit. I don’t remember that much, but I do remember you being there. Thanks, by the way. From what I hear, it was your fast thinking that saved my eye."

Ben turned and stared at Ray as if he'd missed something hugely important. "You never told me that."

"It was just something I heard the doc say in the ER when I was fading in and out. Funny. I just now remembered."

Nodding, Ben swallowed hard and turned his attention to Pete. "I must thank you as well, Peter. Ray was very lucky to have such a proficient paramedic care for him on the scene."

"Hey, it's my job."

"Still —"

Pete held up a hand to cut off Fraser's next words. "It's okay. I'm just glad it worked out. When I first saw the car, well, I thought it'd be worse than it was. If Ray hadn't ducked when he did, well, I don't even want to think about."

The pizza rose in Ray's throat and he had to work to keep from getting sick. "Yeah, well, I got lucky."

"You sure as hell did." An awkward silence followed, but then Pete added, "I was going to say, if you need to have your car worked on while you're gone, I've got this guy I know who has one of the best garages in Chicago. It's called Larry's over in the Polish section of town."

Ray snorted in disbelief. "You know Larry?"

Pete's eyes widened. "You, too?"

"Oh, yeah. Last time the Goat got firebombed, he tricked it out for me."

"Your car got firebombed?"

Ray waved off the question. "I've already called him. He's going to pick it up after the crime lab's through with it. How long have you known Larry?"

"Since I was a teenager. We met at a car show and were tight after that. We didn't go to the same school, but we got together on weekends. I helped him finance his shop."

Ray couldn't believe his ears. "You're kidding. That's really wild. I've known him since we were kids, too."

Eyes narrowed, Pete shook his head as if puzzling out a question before he finally asked, "Don't take this the wrong way, Ray, but how would an Italian kid meet up with somebody like Larry who grew up in the Polish part of town?"

Ray stalled for an explanation and Ben chipped in. "Perhaps the mutual interest in automobile restoration came into play?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's it."

Pete stared and then shrugged in disappointment. "If you say so, sure."

Ray took offense at the tone. "What?"

Renny spoke instead of Pete. "Ray, could I speak with you alone for a moment, please?"

"About what?"

"Ray, please, it's important."

Pete shook his head, frowning. "Don't worry about it, Renny. If Ray needs to keep me out of the loop, I can't blame him. It's not like he knows me from Adam."

Once again, Renny pleaded, "Ray, we need to talk."

Ray didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know the gig was up as far as Pete was concerned. The guy had eyes. He knew things weren't what they were saying they were. If he hadn't been suspicious before, he sure as hell was now. After saving his life, the guy also deserved some answers. Ray held up a hand. "Look, Renny, it's okay. I know what you're going to say. You're going to say we should tell Pete what's really going on."

"Ray —"

"Ben, listen, it's only fair." Ray cut off his partner's protest and trained his eyes back to Pete. "You've got to make a promise right here and now though."

"What kind of promise?"

"Anything I say has to stay right here."

Pete nodded, his lips thin and his face grim. "I knew it."

"So can you keep your mouth shut or what?"

"Sure I can. Let me guess, you're not Ray Vecchio. Is your name even Ray?"

"Actually it is. Stanley Raymond Kowalski to be exact."

"Stanley Kowalski? Your name is Stanley Kowalski?"

"I go by Ray."

"I would, too. God, parents can be so cruel." Pete smiled and shook his head. "I knew you were a Polack. Who in his right mind thought you could pass for Italian?"

"It's a long story."

Pete glanced over at Renny who wouldn't look up as Pete confessed. "I tried to get Renny here to tell me last night. I can usually get him to tell me anything, but he wouldn't budge. That in itself made me figure this was pretty serious stuff."

Renny flushed a pinkish color. "Pete, I couldn't. I told you that. I swore not to tell."

"It's okay, Baby. I knew when you wouldn't tell me, that it was big."

Ben leaned in, his voice hushed. "What you're about to hear is, indeed, very big, Peter. Lives depend on your silence, Ray's life as well as the life of a good friend of mine."

Peter's serious expression mirrored Ben's. "I get that. Regular cops don't get hits put out on them and have FBI bodyguards, not even in Chicago. So what's really going on?"

Ray told his story as Ben sat back, his partner's body stiff, his fists clenched. Ray gave some of the details, but not all. He didn't tell everything about Clooney and what he'd done to Ray, but he did tell a lot about O'Malley and why they had to leave for Canada sooner than later.

Nodding, Pete took it all in. By the time Ray finished, the paramedic looked almost as tired as Ray felt. "This whole thing really sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

After a few moments, Pete took a deep breath. "Thanks for telling me. Things make a lot more sense now."

"What things?"

Pete shrugged. "This Clooney guy, the guy who got killed, he hurt you pretty bad, huh? He's the one who cut you up and left all the scars, right?"

Air thinned and Ray forgot how to breathe for a moment. He hadn't said a word about that part. "How do you know that?"

"I'm good at reading between the lines. I saw the scars when we cleaned off some of the blood to put in the lines. I hear your voice crack when you say the guy's name. It's not that hard to figure out that this guy deserved whatever the fuck he got."

Fraser answered instead of Ray. "Yes, he did."

"Ben —"

Reaching over, Ben took Ray's hand. "It's okay, Ray. It's true. Sometimes justice can only be served when evil is struck down. Clooney was an evil man in every sense of the word." Ben's voice hardened, his words sharp and edgy. "My only regret is that I didn't shoot him myself."

It hurt to hear that, to know the depth of the pain Ben still suffered and tried not to show. "Come on, don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth. Sometimes I dream of reaching him before he had a chance to do the damage he did. I wish I could've done that, saved you, but I couldn't." Ben choked as he closed his eyes.

Forgetting about the other two men in the room, Ray drew Ben closer, his forehead resting on Ray's shoulder as he petted the soft, dark hair. Ray whispered, "You save me every day, Ben, every fucking day."

Fraser didn't say a word, just kept silent, but shook in Ray's arms. Then he pulled away and stood up suddenly as if scalded. "Excuse me."

"Ben, wait."

Holding up a hand, Ben shook his head and headed to the bathroom for some privacy, ashamed of his loss of control. For a control freak like Ben, that had to be about as bad as pissing himself in public. Ray sat, watching and feeling useless, wishing like hell that Ben didn't feel like he had to shut himself off like that. He understood it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Pete cleared his throat. "Honey, I think we should leave."

Obviously disturbed by Ben's uncharacteristic behavior, Renny agreed as he got to his feet. "Please give him our goodbyes, Ray."

Ray glanced over and nodded, "Thanks."

"No problem. Call us if you need anything. Just let us know when you want us to pick you up for the airport."

"Sure."

Pete motioned to the door as he took Renny by the hand and led him outside. As soon as they were alone, Ray rushed to the bathroom door and knocked, calling through the wood. "You okay?"

A few seconds later, Ben opened the door, his eyes swollen, his face puffy and red. "I'm fine."

Ray took him in his arms and kissed Ben's wet cheek. Once again, Ben dropped his head to Ray shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ray. I don't know what came over me.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. My lack of composure was unforgivably rude and undisciplined. It's just… well, just hearing you tell the story so calmly when I know what it's done to you, to us, well, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You're tired. You get a breakdown for free card every couple of months if you hang around here long enough."

"Still —"

"Don't worry about it." Cupping the back of Ben's skull, Ray kissed him again, this time more slowly. "Let's go to bed. We're both wiped out."

Ben sighed and nodded, allowing Ray to lead him to bed, but not before they got waylaid by the wolf. Diefenbaker yipped as he stood by the coffee table, waiting impatiently for some attention. Ray reached over and put the pizza box on the floor. "Ray, you shouldn't give him that."

"It's just one piece. Besides, he's been good. He didn't beg once."

Grudgingly, Ben admitted, "His manners were remarkably improved."

"Maybe hanging around with Renny rubbed off on him."

"Are you saying my manners aren't as good as Turnbull's?"

"It's different. With Renny, he doesn’t have to compete."

"Compete?"

"For top dog, for first dibs on the food. Renny feeds him whenever or whatever he wants. With you, he has to wait."

Ben glanced over at the wolf who licked and nosed at the edges of the box for any final bits of pizza. "Understood." Ben studied Ray briefly and smiled. "Your knowledge of pack behavior seems to be improving."

"I'm a cop. I observe pretty good." Ray mussed Ben's hair and walked him into the bedroom. "Let's hit the hay. I'm beat."

Ray settled on the bed to remove his shoes as Ben unbuttoned his shirt. Ben spoke softly as he undressed and folded his clothes. "Do you think it was wise to let Peter in on the operation without discussing it with Captain Turner first?"

"Fuck Turner, fuck the operation."

"Ray —"

"Ben."

Settling on the mattress next to Ray, Ben sighed. "I just worry that it complicates the situation even further."

"No more than before. Besides, Renny already knew. If someone decided to go after him, Pete deserves to know what's going on, too."

Ben stared at him in surprise, as if Ray had lost his mind. "There's no reason for anyone to attack Turnbull."

"The way things are snowballin' around here, I wouldn't be surprised by anything. The point is, he needed to know and now he does. If Turner or anyone else has a problem with that, well, fuck that."

Ben put a hand on Ray's shoulder and leaned in closer, his voice softer. "I think we need to talk about earlier, Ray."

"What about it?"

"About you holding back, about you thinking I'm keeping things from you."

Ray turned, his face a few inches from Ben's. "There's no way anybody can be completely honest and open all the time. I know that. I mean, even with Stella, there was stuff I couldn't say and I know you've got stuff inside that you need to keep to yourself. That's okay. That doesn't take anything away from us. Being a couple doesn't mean we're one person. We both have a right to privacy in our own heads without it being some big conspiracy or secret."

Ben caressed Ray's cheek. "I just don't want you to think you can't tell me things, Ray. If there's something bothering you, or something you need to share, I want to know what it is. It scares me to think that you might suffer alone."

Ray captured the hand at his face and kissed the palm. "We all suffer alone sometimes, Ben. That doesn't mean you don't help by just being here, by putting up with me when I get a little crazy."

"You put up with me, too, Ray."

"That's a fact." Ray kissed him and then whispered, "So we're good?"

"Better than good, Ray, we're greatness."

Ray's face itched like a whole bunch of pesky ants had a picnic and invited a few thousand of their nearest and dearest friends to join in the party. He reached up only to have his wrist snatched and held down away from his face. "Hey!"

"No scratching, Ray."

"It itches."

"I know that."

Frustrated, Ray jerked his hand away and then sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His head hurt and his left arm ached with a soreness deep down in the muscles. Grumpy as hell, he snapped, "Well, if you know that, you know why I want to scratch it."

"It could get infected."

Taking a deep, calming breath, Ray closed his eyes again and dropped his face into his open hands. He knew Ben meant well and that he was right, but it still pissed him off when all he wanted to do was to stop itching like a son of a bitch. Before he complained some more, Ben stood beside him with a tin of something that smelled funny, sort of like a cross between freshly cut grass and lemony mint. At least it didn't smell stinky, not like that mucous membrane stuff he'd used at the Consulate when Ray got clobbered by that prick who shot Volpe. "What's that?"

"It's something that should help with the itching. It also acts as an antiseptic to prevent infection and to reduce scarring."

Ray eyed the tin with growing suspicion, still not quite sure about all the homemade stuff Ben carried around. "What's in it?"

"The ingredients aren't important, but I assure you they're natural and meant to be quite soothing. I've used it myself on a number of occasions."

Snorting to himself, Ray complained, "You've rubbed yourself down in blubber and lichen on a number of occasions."

Fraser grinned at the familiar jab. "True enough. This, however, contains no whale products or lichen."

"Glad to hear it."

Standing there, all patient and good-humored, Ben persisted. "Would you like me to apply the salve, Ray?"

"Guess it couldn't hurt."

"Well, it might sting a bit at first, but —"

"Hold up. Sting?"

"Just a little, but not for long, I assure you."

"I've got enough stinging and burning."

"Ray, don't be a baby."

Surprised by the teasing criticism, Ray gave in. He didn't want Ben thinking he was a big wimp. "Okay, okay, go ahead."

"Thank you kindly. Tilt your head back just a bit."

As soon as he did, Ben carefully applied the salve to each tiny nick and cut as well as the stitches. It did sting a little bit, but not much and a cool tingling quickly replaced the itching. Ray smiled with relief. "Hey, it works."

"As I promised."

"Thanks."

"Now, I should put in your eye drops. Your eye looks a lot better, by the way."

Ray blinked a couple of times and nodded. "Yeah, it still burns a little, but the double vision's pretty much gone."

"I'm glad to hear it."

As soon as the drops were in, Ray reached for the tin. "You think this stuff will work for my arm, too?"

"It's not nearly as effective on larger wounds, but it certainly can't hurt to try it."

Ray applied some of the ointment to his most irritating cuts. "So, what's really in this stuff?" As soon as Ben hesitated again, Ray grinned. "That bad?"

"Not bad, Ray, just unconventional. Though I must say the Inuit have been using it for some time. I couldn't get all the natural ingredients that I would normally use here in Chicago, so I had to improvise a little bit."

"Improvise? You mean you used stuff you hadn't used before, like whatever was handy kind of stuff?"

"Well, yes, but —"

"And you used it on me, sort of like an experiment, sort of like it might work or it might rot my face off?"

Ben shook his head, no longer smiling. "I would never do that to you, Ray. I researched and tested it on myself first."

Brow furrowed, Ray didn't like the sound of that, not one bit. "Tested how?"

"It's not important."

As Ben turned away, Ray reached out and stopped him. "Don't do that. Don't tell me it's not important. How did you test this stuff on yourself when you're not hurt?" Ben tugged at his ear with his free hand, reluctant to answer. Ray insisted, "Come on, give. Tell me."

"I cut myself in order to test it and found the results quite adequate."

Ray's mouth opened and then shut again quickly, not sure if he'd heard right. The impact of the words hit home and he shook his head. "Jesus, Ben, tell me you didn't do that."

"I could tell you that, but I'd be lying. It wasn't a big cut, Ray, just a small wound really. It's certainly nothing to get upset about."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Ray countered, "What would you say if I'd done that, cut myself on purpose?"

"You wouldn’t do that."

Still holding Ben's arm, Ray squeezed hard, determined not to give in to the impulse to rip it off and give Ben a couple of good, solid whacks with it. His voice got stronger, more intense to make his point. "I might. You never know what the fuck I'm going to do sometimes. So, what would you say if I did? Would you be upset or pissed off, worried that I'd lost my fucking mind or what?" Ben tried to pull his arm free, but Ray held on. "Answer me, Ben. What would you think?"

Ben stopped resisting, but his lips thinned into a tight line. "I only did it to test the salve. It's not something you have to worry about."

Just the pleading tone, the familiar drop it sound of the words, got Ray's attention even more. A nasty twist in his gut wouldn't let him leave it alone, not just yet, not when Ben obviously didn't want to discuss it. "You sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure. Now, please, let me go. I appreciate the concern, but there's no need to be so melodramatic."

Ray released him, but he sure as hell wasn't letting the subject go. He'd been a cop too long not to recognize a snow job when he saw one. "Melodramatic, huh? You think that's what I am because I'm worried about the fact that you cut yourself on purpose?"

Heading out of the room, Ben shrugged. "It was for a good cause, Ray."

"Let me see."

Ben stopped at the doorway and turned. "What?"

"I said, let me see. I want to see where you cut yourself."

"Don’t be silly."

That did it, that really buttered his muffin. No way could he let it drop. Silly, his ass. It wasn't silly to care about his partner. "I'm dead serious, Ben. Show me. Now."

Ben hesitated as he stared at Ray and weighed the options. After a few seconds, he stepped closer to the bed and slowly rolled up the left sleeve of the blue denim shirt. There it was, one slash on the inside of the elbow, not too deep, but it still looked nasty on that perfect, pale flesh. "See, it's nothing. I barely broke the skin."

Ray reached out and touched the arm gently, his fingers sliding just under the actual wound. "You still shouldn't have done it."

"You're overreacting."

Closing his eyes tightly, Ray shook both with anger and relief, grateful it wasn't worse, wasn't what he first thought. Just one cut wasn't that bad, not really, not like with Stella's cousin. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Just promise me you won't do it again."

Settling on the bed beside him, Ben turned toward him, his voice soft. "Ray, what's wrong?"

"You fucking cut yourself for me, that's what's wrong."

"This is about more than that. What are you so upset about?"

Ray stood up and paced the room, not sure if he could put his fear into words. "You just don't do that, you don't hurt yourself, not for me, not for anybody. I don't want you to ever, let me repeat, ever do that again. Are we clear here?"

"We're clear, Ray. I would never have done it if I'd known you'd be this disconcerted."

Ray shook his head harder, working like hell to figure out why Ben would ever think cutting himself for any reason was okay. He settled back down beside Ben who still watched him, his anxious gaze never leaving Ray. "Listen, I have to ask. You ever do that before, hurt yourself on purpose? And I'm not talking about the shit you pull where you jump off a roof or forget to use the stairs and take the window. I'm talking about cutting. You ever do that before?"

"Once, as children, Innusiq and I saw a movie where two boys, one Native American, one white, cut their fingers to become blood brothers. We imitated the scene and swore an allegiance to our friendship in a similar fashion. Is that the kind of thing you mean?"

"No, I'm talking about cutting or stabbing yourself on purpose on a regular basis because you think your life is shit."

Ben frowned and then sat up straighter like, bingo, wow, he suddenly got it. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry, Ray. I never dreamed you'd think that."

"Think what?"

"Think that I have an issue with self injury." Ben touched Ray's face, gently wiping away the tear that got away. His voice became a whisper. "You've seen every part of me, every scar, Ray. You know I'm not marked from self-mutilation."

In his head Ray did a mental checklist of all those scars, the knife wounds, the bullet wounds, the nasty pucker from the dead otter. "Yeah, okay, you're right. It's just there's always a first time."

"Perhaps, but from what I know about self injury, it usually begins in one's adolescence."

"Yeah, it does."

"Ray, did you know someone who cut himself?"

"Herself. It was a she." Ray swallowed hard, the memory still painful. "Stella had a cousin, Emma. She was a great girl, cute, smart, but she had this thing."

"Thing?"

"This thing, this awful cutting thing. Stella told me that she sliced up her thighs, belly, and even her breasts. I mean, I couldn't believe it, didn't get it. She seemed to have it all together, you know? Anyway, it tore the family to pieces. They put her in the hospital and everything, but nothing worked. She just kept hacking away at herself anytime she got stressed out until she even started in on her face."

"That must have been very difficult for you."

"Yeah, it was. Nothing worked and she finally ended up killing herself. Stella was a basket case and, to be honest, I wasn't much better. I'd never known anybody who'd done that before. I just couldn't wrap my head around someone killing herself like that, not when she had so many people who cared about her so much. Problem was, she didn't care about herself."

"I understand, Ray. Seeing such despair at such a young age must have been quite traumatic."

Ray turned his head to meet Ben's worried eyes. "Look, when you said you cut yourself, I guess I just sort of flipped out. Just don't do it again, okay?"

"I promise, Ray. I should've taken more time to consider alternatives rather than simply doing something that, in retrospect, seems rather foolhardy."

"Yeah, you should've. I don't want to have to worry about you doing that kind of shit."

"Understood. It won't happen again."

"Good, good, that's good." Ray bit his lower lip and fought off the nervous tension by taking several deep breaths. Strong arms wrapped around him and Ray closed his eyes, his voice hushed and still a little shaky. "You worry me sometimes, Ben."

"I could say the same thing about you, Ray."

"True, but you're such a control freak. I guess seeing you get so upset last night spooked me more than I thought it did."

"I'll endeavor to do better."

Without warning, Ray opened his eyes and bopped Ben on the head with his open hand. "You're missing the point here, buster."

Holding the top of his head, Ben looked confused. "Obviously."

"You don't have to do better. I do."

"You do?"

"Yeah, me. I'm the one who's jumping to crazy conclusions. What you did last night, that was human, that was okay. I'm actually kind of glad it happened in a weird twisty kind of way. It's nothing to be ashamed about."

Ben relaxed, but he shook his head. "On the contrary, one's emotions should be under better control, especially in times of stress."

"Why? Mine aren't."

"Yes, but —"

"But what? It's okay for me to lose it, but not you? How's that work? Mr. Super Together Mountie can't have any feelings, can't react like a normal person? That's stupid."

Defensive, Ben argued, "It's not stupid. It's who I am."

"It's who you want people to think you are, not who you really are."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you calling me a hypocrite?"

Suddenly tired of the whole conversation, Ray sighed and fell back across the bed. "Don't put words in my mouth. You're not a hypocrite, but you're not always real, either. You're like everybody else, as hard as you try not to be. You've got your game face and your home face, same as me, same as everybody. You just sometimes forget to check the game face at the door."

Frustrated and growing increasingly irritated, Ben continued to argue. "Game face, home face? What is that supposed to mean? Speak English for god's sake."

Ray didn't want to fight, so he reached out a hand instead. "C'mere."

"No. I want you to explain what you meant."

"C'mere first."

Reluctantly, Ben lay on his side next to Ray, the flush of his skin deeper. "I need to know what you meant. Do you really think I'm not being honest with you when we're alone?"

Turning on his good side to face Ben, Ray sighed. "That's not what I meant. Your game face is your Mountie face, the one you use to keep people at a distance. You're polite, efficient, and you get the job done. That's your game face, being the best damn Mountie in the world, bar none, no matter what the fuck those dumbasses up north say."

"Ray —"

Putting a finger to Ben's lips, Ray shushed. "Let me finish." Ben nodded and remained quiet, paying very careful attention to every word. "You're comfortable with that distance, that wall you've got going on. Your game face keeps you safe. I do the same thing, act like some tough guy, some hard guy who can't break a sweat when I see all kinds of bad stuff going down on the street. If I let my emotions break out, well, I lose it, so I keep those in check as much as I can. The difference is, when we get home, I let it go, but sometimes, not always, but sometimes, you don't. You hang onto that game face, that distance, because it's what you're used to, what you were raised with. It's hard for even me to break through that shell. Last night the shell broke. There's no reason to be embarrassed for being human, but you act like it's some big sin, like you deserve to be punished or something. So when I heard you say you cut yourself, I sort of jumped the gun a little bit."

Ben blinked several times and then took a deep breath. "I don't mean to be like that, Ray."

"I know that and you've been better. You've let me in, let me see that part of you that's so special, so really great. What I'm trying to say is that sometimes you act like you don't have the same needs the rest of us average Joes have, and that's tough, that's hard to live with." Ray saw the confusion in those blue eyes and took another stab at it. "I guess what I mean is, I like seeing that home face, that vulnerable side. I don't mind that you need me sometimes, too, even if that makes you feel twitchy as hell."

Ben's eyes closed and he rolled forward to lie face down on the mattress beside Ray, letting out a huge, oh my god sigh, but not speaking. After a few moments of silence, Ray nudged his partner with concern. "You okay?"

"I need a few moments alone."

Surprised at the admission, Ray nodded and patted his back. "Okay. Why don't I go make some tea or something? You want something to eat?"

"Tea would be wonderful. Thank you."

"Sure thing. Not a problem."

Ray sat up slowly, hesitating. He didn't know if he should leave Ben like this, all pulled in on himself and quiet. "Tell me you're okay first."

"I'm okay."

"Yeah?"

Not lifting his head, his voice muffled by the bed, Ben answered softly, "I'm fine. I'm just processing what you've said."

"Processing as in dealing with it?"

"The very same."

"Cool. Tea it is then."

Ray got up and headed to the kitchen, determined to focus more on his partner's worries than just his own troubles. It was time to step up to the plate and hit a homer, not some pop up ball into the stands. Ben needed more from him in the relationship and Ray was going to stop being some weak-kneed, namby-bamby minor league player and deliver a winning season.

Ray sat at the kitchen table, chewing his right thumbnail, his leg bouncing like crazy. Sipping his third cup of chocolate-laced coffee, he waited for Ben to come out of the bedroom. It'd already been fifteen minutes and Ray figured if he didn’t come out soon, he'd send Dief in to drag his ass out.

Almost on cue, Ben showed up and sat down beside him, all calm and collected, not a hair out of place. Problem was, he didn't make eye contact, wouldn't look up. It made Ray nervous as hell.

Ben took the tea and sniffed it before he took a drink. "It's very good. Thank you."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, Ray, really. I just wasn't expecting such a scathingly acute, and if I might add, accurate personal profile."

Damn. Ray leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands fisted together. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't, at least not in the way you think."

"Huh?"

Ben finally lifted his head and faced him. "Everything you said was true, Ray. I can't fault you for telling the truth regardless of how painful that might be."

"But I didn't say it to be painful. I wasn't trying to be a dickhead. Honest."

"I know that. It's just that it's difficult to be reminded of your primary failings from the one person you most want to impress."

"You don't have to impress me. Love's not about impressing people."

"True enough. Still, I never wanted to fail you."

Shaking his head in utter frustration, Ray reached for Ben's hand and held it tightly in his own. "You don't fail me, ever."

"Not intentionally, no, but if I'm not being honest with you, if I've somehow kept you at a distance, then I consider that a failure of a kind. I wish to change that."

"You have changed it. You don't do it all the time, hardly ever."

"But I do do it, Ray. I've tried not, too, but it seems I haven't been nearly as successful as I would've liked." His hand still in Ray's, Ben shifted uneasily in the chair. "From the time I was a small boy, it was impressed upon me how important it was that one's public image, what you refer to as the game face, meet every propriety. With constant reinforcement from my father, my grandparents, and the service, I learned early on how well I could perform in that public arena by simply and quite strictly adhering to the rules, by being more true to the will of the people than my own needs or desires. I found a great deal of satisfaction in being successful at my job, far more satisfaction there than in my personal interactions to be sure. I could be of service and at the same time, be more of a symbol of justice than a real person, a person whom I felt to be totally inadequate and incomplete. When people see the uniform, they see what I stand for, not the man wearing it. I found great comfort, great safety in that."

"Yeah, I get that. It's like a mask, some kind of disguise, not the real you. You can hide what you're really feeling and not risk getting hurt."

"Exactly, and while performing my duties, that's appropriate. What's not appropriate is to use that same persona in my private interactions." Ben squeezed Ray's hand before he continued. "I've come to understand that it's a coping mechanism, something I do out of fear, Ray."

"Fear? Are you saying you're afraid of me?"

"No, not of you, but of the devastation that would occur should I ever lose you."

Ray sat back as if slammed. He'd never once looked at it that way, but it made a hell of a lot of sense. "Like padding, like the gear I wear when I box and I don't want to get nailed and knocked out."

"Something like that, yes."

"Jesus, Ben, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"It just never occurred to me that you'd be thinking like that. I mean, I know you've got issues, that you're insecure as hell sometimes. You wouldn't be doing that Ben's a great guy, rah-rah, pump up the music routine in front of the mirror every morning if you didn’t, but this, well, it just floors me, really knocks me for a loop. You're not going to lose me."

"I'd like to believe that, Ray, and I do believe it most of the time, but the fear still persists regardless of my efforts to eliminate it from my mind."

"Yeah, I get that." And he did. Ray thought about losing Ben like that, too, sometimes. When it popped into his head, he couldn't control it no matter how hard he tried. It made his gut ache and his body shake all over, that fear, that monster that rode around on his back, slapping him down when he least expected it. He hated that feeling, that loss of control, that icy cold panic rising in his throat like the time he nearly drowned on the boat. Ben's voice snapped him back to attention.

"The point is, I need to make it clear that I don't think I'm different from anyone else or that I'm not human. That's the one part of what you said that truly hurt. You of all people should know just how human I am, Ray."

"Yeah, I know that."

"I'm uncomfortable being emotionally vulnerable. I'm not used to it. The few times in my life when I've let down my guard, well, let's just say the results have been quite disastrous. So, it's not an excuse, but an explanation for why I sometimes wear the mask of the public image within the confines of our private lives. I don't mean to."

"It's that Mountie guy that does that, not you."

"I am that Mountie guy, Ray. Even when I'm in private, he's still here. I can't just take him off and put him in the closet like the uniform. He's with me all the time. It's only been with you that I've actually started to realize that there might be a possibility, a hope, that I might learn to be more comfortable as Ben rather than just Constable Fraser."

"It's hard to juggle being two people, but we all do it. It just takes practice."

Ben reached over and took Ray's hand. "I want this relationship to work. I want it more than anything I've ever wanted in my life."

"Same here." Ray leaned over and kissed Ben gently before pulling back. "We're going to be fine, Ben. Honest."

"But I'm not very good at it."

"Sure you are, better than you think."

"It's just you've had so much more experience than I have." Ben stopped and then swallowed hard. "I've never been married before, never really been in a successful, long-term relationship. You, on the other hand, were with Stella most of your life. You were married for fifteen years. You know what it takes to make a relationship work."

"Yoo-hoo, Ben, over here. I'm divorced."

Ben grinned weakly as he continued, "I'm not forgetting that. Despite that, you can't deny that for most of the time, your marriage was a good one."

Releasing Ben's hand, Ray sat back. He sipped his coffee, now cold and bitter. "Depends on how you define good."

"You don't have to protect my feelings on this. I know you had a good marriage with Stella until the end."

Ray really didn't want to talk about Stella, not today, not really any time soon. He met Ben's pleading eyes and realized he had to confess, pay the piper, tell the truth out loud for the first time in a long time. "It wasn't all that good, Ben. Sure, we had some good times, great times. The sex was… well, we won't go there. The sex was never the issue with Stella and me, even in the end."

Ben sat us straighter, his face pained by the words as he listened intently. "Are you saying your marriage was only about sex?"

"No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying we had our problems. We were way too young, too stupid, too, what's the word for when you don't know shit about life?"

"Naïve?"

"Yeah, naïve, that's it. We thought, just because we loved each other, that'd be enough. It didn't matter that her dad hated me on sight, that he didn't think I was good enough for his princess. It didn’t matter that she was smarter than me —"

"Ray —"

"No, wait. You started this. Let me tell it."

"Very well. I'm sorry. Please continue."

Nodding, Ray leaned in, his mind now running back over his life with Stella, seeing it in a more critical light than ever before. "She was smarter than me, at least book smart. She could read something once and know it by heart. She was ambitious, too, something I'm not, or at least not for the same things."

"I don't understand."

"Stella came from money. No way would she settle for not having it. Married to me, that became a big sticking point, a real head-banger sometimes. Plus, she wanted to be a lawyer, make a name, be the bigwig. She got what she wanted. Me, I just wanted to be a cop, have a family, settle down and be happy. The longer we stayed together, the more obvious it got that we didn't want the same things at all, probably never did."

Nodding, Ben sighed. "Yes, I can see how that would happen. You were so young when you met."

"Yeah, but the thing is, I didn't see it coming and I should've. I mean, I just thought we'd work it out, that the differences we had weren't enough to break us up, but I was just kidding myself."

"There's nothing wrong with being hopeful, Ray."

"It is when you start making the person you love miserable."

"You didn't make Stella miserable."

Ray snapped. "You weren't there, Ben. You don't know how it was." Biting his lower lip, Ray shook his head, more than anything not wanting to turn his anger against Ben. "Sorry. It's just a touchy subject. It's hard to admit that I fucked up so bad. It just got to the point in the last couple of years that all we did was fight or fuck. We didn't talk, we didn't even argue most of the time. She'd snap or I'd snap and we'd go to separate corners until bedtime. The only safe place got to be either the bed or the bottle. All my undercover assignments didn't help. I don't blame Stella for leaving me. I was a shit to live with. Hell, I would've left me if I could've. I was fucked up then and I'm fucked up now."

Before Ben could counter, Ray added, "So, if you're looking to me for pointers on how to make this thing work, that's going to be a problem."

"You're too hard on yourself, Ray."

"Yeah, well, you love me, so it figures you're not exactly an unbiased opinion. You're pretty much stuck with saying that."

"I say it because it's true."

"And it's true right back at you. When it comes to this thing between us, this relationship stuff, you do okay. You do better than me most days. You just need a little fine tuning, that's all. Me? Sometimes I think I need a whole new engine, not to mention all new bodywork to take the dents out. I feel banged up, done in, and totaled, ready for the junkyard any minute." Ray met Ben's serious gaze and whispered, "You're the only thing keeping me on the road, Ben. Don't give up on me now. Don't tell me you want out, not now. I'll crash and burn, no doubt about it."

Shocked, Ben took his arm. "What? Is that what you think? You think me asking you about your marriage is my way of telling you I want out of our relationship?"

"Is it?"

"Not at all." Ben shifted even closer, nearly nose-to-nose. "I love you. I don't want to disappoint you."

"Shut up about that. You don't."

"And you don't disappoint me, either, Ray."

"Not even when I fuck up?"

"We all make mistakes or bad choices on occasion. Don't ever question my love because I might not agree with something you decide to do." His voice deepened as he repeated himself. "Please, Ray, don't ever question my love for you."

"I don't."

"Good, because I would do anything for you, sacrifice anything. To me, loving you has been the greatest gift of my life."

Ray could hardly breathe, the earnest words like a firm grip on his lungs, his heart a goner. After a few moments, he stood up and took Ben's hand in his. "Let's take this gift to bed, okay?"

Ben's broad smile coupled with that shy blush he got when Ray initiated sex revved up the motor in a hurry. Walking into the bedroom, Ben leaned over and kissed the side of his neck, the lick of the tongue a promise of good things to come. Ray shuddered, fell back on the bed, and let Ben's mouth go to town. For Ben that meant getting their clothes off in a hurry and exploring up one side and down the other, still being careful not to interfere with any of Ray's injuries.

Head swimming, Ray tried to touch Ben's hair, to do his part and return the favor, only to find his arms pinned above his head. "No, Ray. Let me do this. Let me please you."

"You don't have to do that. It takes two to tango."

In a husky voice that went straight to Ray's cock, Ben pleaded, "I want to."

Trembling, too turned on to argue, Ray swallowed hard before he nodded. Smiling, Ben lifted up and kissed him, his tongue thick and hot as it took its own sweet time to fuck his mouth. The weight of Ben's body pinned him down and Ray spread his legs, letting Ben put his knees between his thighs for leverage. Cocks lined up, both leaking, both throbbing. Ben's hand reached between them and wrapped around both at the same time. Heat zinged up Ray's middle and he whimpered. Ben's mouth still latched onto his, swallowing Ray's cries for mercy. Ben pumped them both, his hand hot and the grip incredibly tight and perfect. Ray shoved into that hand and struggled to control the rhythm, only to have Ben grunt and shudder.

The sharp, musky smell and the familiar fist tightening on his dick got Ray off in a hurry. He jerked and squirted all over Ben's hand, his come mixing with his partner's. Ray's head swam with bright yellow flashes, the wonderful tilt of release sending powerful spasms blasting through his middle. The rush burned his skin, made his ass ache, and his heart race wilder than ever.

Eyes squeezed shut, his body still flushed with pleasure, Ray's sigh deepened as Ben shifted and started licking again. A lazy, expert tongue lapped at Ray's belly, down through his bush, all over his inner thighs, and all around the balls and wilting dick. Ray's cock twitched with tiny sparks of still feeling good as it tried desperately to get hard again, but couldn't. "Jesus, Ben, you're killing me here."

Ben lifted his head, grinning. "I assure you, Ray, that's not my intention." With one more playful flick of his tongue against the tip of Ray's dick, Ben shifted upward and lay beside him. He kissed Ray again, this time his mouth salty and his lips swollen.

Dropping his head to Ray's chest, Ben sighed deeply with contentment. "You make me happy, Ray."

Smiling, Ray combed his fingers through the sweaty, dark curls. "Same here, but I swear to god, you should register that mouth of yours as a deadly weapon."

Ben's whiskers burned Ray's chest as Ben smiled and rubbed his face over the right nipple playfully. Ray choked on the sensation, enjoyed it for all it was worth, soaked up the closeness of having a naked Ben in his arms. Ben's hand came up and toyed with the ring around Ray's neck. Ray thought about how great it would be to put that ring on his finger for a change instead of hiding it. "Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering, that is to say, I was hoping that —"

"That what?"

"I was hoping that perhaps when we get to Canada, we could wear our rings openly."

Ray snorted, wondering if on top of everything else that Ben might be psychic. It sure as hell wouldn't surprise him. "Why wait? Why not wear them now?"

Ben sat up and stared. "Are you sure?"

"Why the hell not?"

Nodding, Ben agreed. "Indeed, Ray, why the hell not?"

With that, Ray took off Ben's necklace first and got the ring off the chain. Reaching for Ben's left hand, he slipped the gold band on the ring finger and admired it. His stomach fluttered as he gazed at the symbol of his connection to the man he loved more than anything. "Looks good. Looks right."

Ben's eyes sparkled. "Yes, it does." Following Ray's example, almost like a ritual, Ben removed the chain and put the wedding band on Ray's finger. He swallowed hard before he met Ray's gaze. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Ben." Ray held up his left hand, palm outward and waited.

Ben lifted his left hand, too, and placed it palm to palm with Ray's as he whispered, "My beloved."

"My partner, the guy I want to grow old with, the guy who deserves better than a beat up flatfoot from Chicago." Before Ben could protest, Ray added, "The Canadian guy, who, lucky for me, doesn’t know any better."

"You're wrong, Ray."

"Yeah?"

Fingers laced together, Ben nodded and leaned in for a quick kiss before he rested his forehead against Ray's. "You're more than I deserve, more than I ever expected."

Overwhelmed by the weightiness of the conversation, Ray teased, "You big schmuck."

"On the contrary. I'm a very fortunate man."

"Easy mark."

"Blessed beyond measure."

"Sucker."

"If you're lucky, Ray."

Ray choked on his own laughter as Ben captured his mouth, his lips more than happy to demonstrate one more time how Ben knew how to turn Ray's crank with a vengeance.

"Well, Son, it looks like you've made quite a bit of headway with your travel arrangements."

Ben turned from packing his and Ray's bags to stare at his father in exasperation. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there. You'd be surprised at the number of attractions there are in the hereafter."

Ben refused to be lured into asking what kind of attractions interested a man who'd been dead for years. Instead, he focused on the question at hand. "What did you say to O'Malley?"

His father's countenance quickly changed from jovial to grim. "That scoundrel? Not nearly as much as I would've liked, I assure you."

"How could he even see you?"

"Good question. I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?" A rustling sound and a restless shifting of the mattress came from the bedroom. Ben immediately stopped talking and went over to pull the door closed before walking back over to his father. He didn't want Ray to hear this, to know about his father's interactions with the man who tried to kill him. "How can you not be sure? I thought there were only a limited number of people who could see you."

"I thought so, too, but apparently we were both wrong."

"Why were you even there?"

Bob Fraser frowned and then took a deep breath. "I like the Yank, Son. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to get this man to see reason."

"By threatening him?"

"Who said I threatened him?"

"He told Special Agent Crenshaw to tell me to tell you to back off."

"He did, eh?"

"He did."

His father smiled with approval. "Good."

"Good? In case you haven’t noticed, you're dead, Dad."

"So you keep saying. What's your point?"

"How can you threaten a man if you're dead?"

His father lifted a finger to emphasize his words. "You might be surprised to learn that some people take the dead more seriously than the living, Son. That's certainly the case with this O'Malley person. He thought I was some omen, some harbinger of his doom."

"Are you?"

"Possibly. It might go a long way to explain why he could see me when others can't."

Ben sat down at the table, shaking his head. "I don't understand."

"Well, if one doesn't count animals, which apparently see spirits as easily as the living, I've found that people who can see me seem to fall into two categories."

"Which are?"

"Well, there are people like you, Buck Frobisher, and the Yank, people with whom I have some personal connection."

"And the other group?"

"Oddly, the other group would be those people close to death."

"Close to death?"

"Yes, like that coroner person in your morgue, Mort something or other. The man sees me and pays no attention, like I'm just part of the backdrop to his life. It's really quite annoying and a little bit creepy. But there were others who have seen me when they were close to their own demise."

Ben's brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities of that. "Are you saying O'Malley is going to die soon?"

"I don't know, Son. I do know that he saw me as soon as I arrived in his cell." His father chuckled to himself. "It was rather entertaining really."

Ben straightened up in the chair, not the least bit amused, but still curious. "In what way?"

"Oh, you should have seen it, Son. Well, you know what it was like when you first saw me in this state. You didn't quite believe it without some convincing, and neither did he."

The picture got a lot clearer. "Do I want to know how you convinced him?"

"He kept trying to punch me with his fist only to land on his face. It was quite entertaining. I hadn't had that much fun since Gerrard got carted off to prison. At any rate, it took several tries and a visit from a guard who questioned the man's sanity for talking to thin air before he finally admitted that I might, indeed, be a ghost." Bob Fraser's smile faded. "Once he realized the truth of the matter, however, he listened. I told him the Yank was under my protection."

"And what did he say?"

"He laughed."

Astounded, Ben couldn't believe it. "He laughed?"

"It was a damn odd laugh, too, if I say so myself. He said he always thought the Yank must have had a guardian angel considering what he's survived."

"Well, if he called you an angel, he certainly must be deranged."

"Let the man have some delusions, Son. Besides, I got him to promise to lay off the Yank."

Ben sighed, his irritation gone, relief in its place. "So Ray's safe?"

"From O'Malley? Perhaps."

"But you just said —"

"I know what I said, Benton. We just don't want to take any chances." Bob waved a hand at all the gear on the table. "This is a positive thing, this move back to Canada. It'll do you both a world of good, give you both a fresh start. Of course, I'd be happier if you were headed further north and rebuilding the cabin, but for now this will do." He paused before he added, "I know you're tired, Son. That's only natural. You've been through a lot. But you can take comfort in the fact that he's alive and you've taken steps to keep him that way. That's all that matters."

Instead of being angry at his father for meddling, Ben found himself nearly overwhelmed with gratitude. "Thank you, Dad."

The older man waved a hand. "Pish. It's what a father does. You and the Yank, you're family."

"All the more reason to tell you how much I appreciate what you've done, accepting Ray and me together like you have, saving him, warning us. You didn't have to do that and I have to admit, I never expected it."

"Well, nobody expects a visit from the afterlife, Son. Most folks think you're crazy if you do."

Ben smiled, knowing full well that his father knew exactly what he really meant. "I've often considered the possibility that I might have a hole in my bag of marbles."

"Well, you don't. You've got a sound mind, sounder than most, not like your Uncle Tiberius who had that odd fondness for… well, never mind. That's a different story."

Chuckling, Ben squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, the fatigue stretching his energy thin. When he looked back up, his father was gone, or as gone as his father ever was. He was never quite sure if his father ever completely left, but certainly didn't want to think of his dad viewing his intimate moments with Ray at inopportune moments. Ben shuddered at the thought and sincerely prayed that wasn't the case, or if it were the case, that he never knew about it. More importantly, he hoped Ray never knew about it, either. He hated to imagine what Ray would do to his father if he found out the deceased Mountie had become a voyeur in the afterlife. Kicking a ghost in the head might prove difficult, but not impossible if Ray had anything to do with it.

Ray stumbled out of the bedroom and squinted at the early light streaming in through the window. "What time is it?"

"It's only six-thirty. You've got time to wash off and dress. Renfield and Peter will be here in less than an hour to take us to the airport."

Dropping down on the sofa, Ray stared at the bags on and near the kitchen table. "I thought we were going to pack together."

"I did it last night to save time."

"Couldn't sleep?"

"I managed a few hours after I finished most of the packing, cleaning out the refrigerator, and emptying the trash. I must admit that I'm rather excited by the prospect of leaving."

"Yeah, me, too."

"You only have to dress while I pack the personal grooming materials and we're ready."

Ray counted the bags and shook his head in confusion. "Why all the luggage? We didn't take this much when we went at Christmas and that was including all the heavy coats and stuff."

"Well, we have Diefenbaker this time."

"It's not like Dief's a style pig, Ben. What else we got?"

Ben walked over and handed Ray his morning coffee before sitting in the chair. "I took the liberty of packing your camera and art materials."

"Thanks, but that still doesn't account for these other two bags." Ray reached over and unzipped the flap. He frowned as he saw Ben's red long johns and all the flannel. "It's June, nearly July. Shouldn't we be taking T-shirts and shorts?"

"The weather in Yellowknife is a lot cooler than here, Ray."

"How cool? Are you telling me there'll be snow?"

"Not likely, but it still gets cool at night. During the day, you'll likely be comfortable with a light-weight jacket."

Ray hadn't thought about that, how different the weather would be, even in summer. "Okay, okay, I get that." He poked around in the bag some more and pulled out some netting and bug spray. "What's this for?"

Tugging at his ear, Ben cleared his throat. "Well —"

"Well, what?"

"Mosquitoes."

"Mosquitoes?"

"And black flies."

"Black flies, like gnats?"

"Not exactly. They're rather bigger than gnats."

"Bigger? How much bigger?"

"Big enough."

When Ben wouldn't tell him exactly how big the fuckers were, he knew he was in trouble. "Shit. I thought you only got those in jungles and stuff."

"Actually, there are rather impressive numbers of insects during the summer season even in arctic areas."

"But we can't get malaria or nothing like that, right?"

"Not malaria, no, but there is the danger of encephalitis and other diseases, though the risk is rather small. However, the bites themselves can be rather irritating or lead to skin infections."

Ray didn't like the sound of that at all. "So you're saying there will be bugs, huh?"

"Lots of bugs."

"I think I'd rather have snow."

"Understandable. However, there are a number of commercial remedies that are quite effective, as well as the more natural remedies that one can use. The netting is helpful as well when the swarms get too persistent."

"Swarms?"

"I'm afraid so, Ray."

Ray groaned and closed his eyes, trying not to think about bugs feasting on him when he wasn't paying attention. "You pack the itch cream?"

"Absolutely."

"Great, great, so on top of stitches, I'm going to be covered in bug bites."

"Not necessarily, Ray. In addition to the repellants, we'll hang some netting over our bed at night so that we'll be comfortable. I assure you, I've spent many a pleasant summer night with not a single bite by morning."

"Yeah, but you weren't one of Chicago's finest. You've got to know those bad boys are going to want a taste of some new stuff after feasting on nothing but Canadian forever."

The sofa cushion shifted and Ray opened his eyes to see Ben sitting beside him, his face slightly flushed. "What?"

"They'll have competition, Ray."

Smiling, Ray got it. "Oh, sure, you want to lick me all over when I'm covered with bug dope? You sure you can handle that?"

Ben answered him with a kiss. Ray melted into the sensation of Ben making the morning worth the effort of getting up after all. His cock woke up faster than he did. He held a hand to Ben's chest. "Whoa there, buddy. We've got stuff to do and places to go. We don't really have time to start this and do it right."

Reluctantly, Ben pulled back slightly, but didn't lose contact. "Later then."

"Yeah, later, like in our cabin in Canada."

Ben's eyes darkened even more. "Yes, Ray, in our home, in Canada."

Just the way he said the words home and Canada, all breathy like that, Ray thought he might come right there, no stroking, nothing but that sexy voice to get him going. "You think you can wait that long?"

"If I have to, yes."

"What if you don't have to?"

Ben's breath caught as Ray reached between his legs, rubbing Ben's erection through the tight denim. Blue eyes closed as Ben dropped his head to Ray's shoulder. "Ray, please…"

"Please what?"

Ray waited just a few seconds before he finally got what he wanted. "Touch me, Ray, please."

"Take yourself out."

Ben shifted enough to unzip and slip his boxer briefs down far enough that his hard dick bobbed out. Sweat already dripped down the side of Ben's red face and Ray got a huge rush from seeing Ben so hot, so open to just going for it. Fuck the clock, fuck getting ready to leave. Nothing mattered but getting off. Ray understood that, knew about primal urges and shit. He loved seeing Ben finally giving in and just letting go. He loved having that much power, having that much honesty and trust right at his fingertips.

Ben's balls rolled in his open hand as Ray fondled him first, playing with him, teasing his balls as Ben's breath got more and more ragged. The thick dick burned and twitched in Ray's hand as he wrapped his fingers around it. Head back, throat exposed, Ben panted harder as Ray used the precome to slick up his hand to stroke him, to do Ben right there on the sofa. Pumping harder, he whispered, "I love you like this, Ben, raw and needy, my hand on your dick. Come for me, just go for it."

Ben groaned louder as his body jerked several times, out of control. He came hard, hot come shooting out, Ben's hand grabbing Ray's and holding it still.

Ray drew Ben's shaking body into his arms and kissed the side of that sweaty neck. "You're so hot."

"Dear Lord, Ray, what you do to me."

"Yeah, I know. Felt good to me, too."

Breathing like he'd just run the Kentucky Derby, Ben reached down to touch Ray. "Let me."

Ray stopped his hand from going any further. He wanted to stay hard for a while, save it for later, later when they arrived where they needed to be. "Not now."

Ben lifted his head. "I don't understand."

"Later. When we get home."

"Home, Ray?"

"Yeah, Canada."

Ben took another deep breath and smiled before he dropped his head back to Ray's chest. Ray kissed the top of Ben's head and then closed his eyes, wondering how in the world they'd ever be able to come back to Chicago again after all this. He didn't want to think about that, about the future. All he wanted was to go with Ben, to get well, the two of them in tune again. Chicago, Canada, it didn't much matter as long as they stuck together and did this whole relationship thing right, smoothed out the rough edges.

Ben was Ray's lifeline, he'd known that for a while now. Ben kept him grounded and hanging in there. What Ray didn't know, was just realizing, was that for Ben, Ray did the same thing, kept him anchored, filled up those wide empty spaces he carried around deep inside himself. Ray's chest swelled with the weight of that new knowledge, that nearly overwhelming insight that Ben needed him as much as he needed Ben. Wow. The whole idea made his head swim.

"Hey?"

Ben spoke against the side of Ray's chest, still trying to recover from Ray's earlier touches. "What, Ray?"

"What do you call that thing where two things that are different have to have the other to survive? You know, like how you explained a lichen was really a yucky fungus and some slimy algae shacked up together. The fungus lets the two of them hang out on a bare rock face somewhere out in the middle of nowhere and the algae makes the food out of sunlight. It's like they're both better together than either is alone. It's called symbisomething or other."

Lifting his head, his brow furrowed, Ben frowned at the odd question. "Symbiosis?"

"Yeah, yeah, symbiosis. That's it."

"Ray, first of all, I never explained it like that. I'd never call fungus yucky or describe the two of them as shacked up."

"Well, yeah, I know that. I just put my own spin on it so it made more sense."

Sitting up, Ben stared at him, still confused. "May I ask why you're thinking about symbiosis all of a sudden?"

"It's not all of a sudden. I've been thinking about it for a while now."

"Why?"

"Because it's like us, you and me. We're like the lichen thing."

Ben shook his head as he got up to clean himself at the sink before stuffing himself back in his jeans. "Dare I ask which of us is the fungus and which is the algae?"

"It's a metaphor, Ben."

"A metaphor?"

"Yeah, for our lives, how we're better together than apart."

Ben finally got it. He grinned and crossed his arms, going along with the strange conversation. "A duet as it were."

Ray smiled, remembering their conversation from that first fateful day when Ben walked into the station, all confused and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Ray's heart tightened at the memory, of how drastically his world had changed since then, since letting Ben into his life. "Yeah, a duet, that's us."

Ben walked over and reached out, taking Ray's hand. "Indeed, Ray. That's us." He tugged as he whispered, "Shall we?"

Ray stood and followed Ben into the bedroom, knowing full well he'd follow the man to Canada or anywhere else his boots might lead, no doubt about it.

The End of BYGONES Part Two

Appendix

 

BYGONES: A list of original characters

If you haven't read BYGONES and don't want to be spoiled, do not read this list. Otherwise, it might help refresh your memory. These characters will appear again in either LIFELINE: Chicago or LIFELINE: Canada.

Eddie Banks—Former psychology/sociology professor. He's now a writer and part-time psychologist. He sometimes works with Chris Frame as guide and outfitter. He's Chris's life partner.

Dr. Barnes—Ray's medical doctor after his assault.

Clay Biggs—14-year-old armed suspect that Ray shot and killed in self-defense.

Michael Clooney—Ray's stalker and rapist. He was obsessed with Ray and did everything he could to make Ray's life miserable because he blamed Ray for being arrested.

Dr. Elizabeth Collier—Ray's psychologist. She reminds Ray of his fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Olszewski, the only one who could teach Ray to read. She's patient and not "pushy" like his other therapist, Dr. Reese, was, and Ray is more receptive to her methods of therapy.

Special Agents Crenshaw and Davis—FBI agents in charge of watching and capturing Clooney. Crenshaw is the head agent.

Chris Frame—Former cop who now lives in Yellowknife as a guide and outfitter. He's a recovering alcoholic and Eddie's life partner.

Rick Hanlon—Ray's partner in the undercover operation with Clooney. He betrayed Ray by blowing his cover to Clooney, who then killed Hanlon and raped Ray.

Sean O'Malley—former partner of Clooney. Clooney was going to testify against O'Malley for immunity when he escaped and kidnapped Ray, nearly killing him. With Clooney's death, O'Malley went free.

Alan McClain—Fraser's Mountie friend who lets them stay in his cabin in Yellowknife. Fraser saved his life in Moose Jaw. Alan has a wife named Cheri and two children. He also has a "thing" for Fraser and it makes Ray crazy.

Mimi LeBeau—runs a café in Yellowknife. She feels indebted to Fraser for protecting her and her son during a domestic dispute. She befriends both Fraser and Ray when they go to live in Canada.

Jeremy LeBeau—12 year-old-son of Mimi LeBeau.

Jerome LeBeau—abusive husband of Mimi who killed himself in front of Fraser, Jeremy, and his wife when Jeremy was only 6.

Larry Mason—Ray's mechanic and high school friend.

Peter Pulaski—Emergency technician who is dating Turnbull. He looks like Ray, blond, tall, and skinny.

Dr. Reese—Ray's first therapist and Fraser's psychologist at the end of the first book of the BYGONES trilogy.

Captain Robert Turner—Runs all the undercover operations including Ray's undercover work as Vecchio. He knew about Ray's first rape while undercover in the Clooney organization, but didn't report it officially. It was his decision to send Ray back to work undercover as Ray Vecchio only a short time after his first attack.

Cal Tyler—Runs the photo shop in Yellowknife. He develops Ray's photos and encourages him to think about a professional career in photography. He has a wife Angela and a house load of kids.


End file.
